The Unexpected Mission
by WinterIsComing01
Summary: Continuation of The Unexpected Partner - a whole new set of adventures for Chase and Tuck - and maybe a wedding too! Rated M for language, violence and lemons!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I am so happy to bring you guys the first chapter of my TMW sequel! I love Chase and Tuck and hope you do too. Please read, review and most importantly, enjoy!**

**Chapter 1**

Standing in a dim corner of the bar, with an earpiece in his right ear, a loaded gun hidden in the holster under his leather jacket and a scowl on his face, Tuck Hansen folded his arms over his chest and glared into the room. He was not, as the Americans and his best friend, FDR Foster, were wont to say, a happy bloody camper.

Pierre Toussaint had surfaced in LA after months of being off the radar. He was sneaky, slippery, elusive and resourceful, but he wasn't nearly as smart as he thought he was. Or rather, Tuck reasoned, he wasn't nearly as smart or as resourceful as the Center of Intelligence Agency of the United States and its operatives.

Toussaint was something like a free-agent in the world of rats. For the right price, which was usually something outrageously staggering, he bought information for various types of crime families and terrorists around the globe. He could name his own ridiculous prices, however, because he was exceedingly good at what he did. At the present moment, he was both the errand boy and the lap-dog for the notorious al-Fahsihd family in Paris. He was being a very naughty boy, Tuck thought with a wry smirk, by selling the terrorist family United States secrets. The important questions at hand were which secrets had been compromised, what were the al-Fahsihds planning to do with the secrets, and who was supplying Toussaint with the information.

Currently, Toussaint was shooting pool inside the back room of the Blarney Stone, surrounded by a bevy of women, drinks, and loud rap music pumping from the speakers of the jukebox per his request and his coin. The group was loud, raucous, and annoying. Toussaint was carrying on as though he didn't have a care in the world. And, Tuck noted with irritation, the snitch couldn't shoot pool to save his life. They suspected he had surfaced in Los Angeles to obtain more United States secrets before shipping back off to Paris again.

But none of these things were what was making Tuck so sour right now; his lips pursed around the toothpick clamped between his teeth as he glared at the rowdy party around the pool table. His eyes lit on one of the women, a petite but curvy brunette with her back to him, facing Toussaint. The man couldn't seem to decide if he wanted to stare at her face or her breasts. The woman sidled up next to him, moving her hips to the beat of the hip hop song pounding through the speakers. Tuck's eyes trailed down, noting that the woman's backside was nicely showcased in a pair of black leather pants paired with a long, sheer, flowing black sleeveless blouse. She wore a black bustier under the blouse that pushed her breasts up in a most enticing fashion, and she danced gracefully in place next to the rat in a pair of tall, suede peep-toe ankle boots. His eyes lit on the way her waist curved inward, and the indentation her spine made in her back flexed with her movements.

As though she could feel his eyes boring into her, the woman turned a little then and glanced over her shoulder, her long, wavy, espresso-colored hair swirling around her shoulders as her kohl-lined, smoky blue-gray eyes met his. Tuck lifted his scarred eyebrow at her slightly.

His fiancée rolled her eyes, then winked back at him and turned back to Toussaint.

Tuck growled in his throat, knowing even as he did that he was overreacting. He couldn't help it; though Chase Moreno was highly trained and skilled, and in fact one of the best in their profession, the dedicated CIA operative also had a rep for acting impetuously and recklessly in order to complete her missions - and she always completed the mission. And now that she was his fiancée, her penchant for "cowboy shit" was harder to deal with since Tuck just wanted her to be safe and secure always. He loved her - deeply and crazily - and he would gratefully sacrifice his own life if it meant saving hers. Fortunately and unfortunately, she felt the same way toward him and despite his admonishing and pleas, her work ethic wouldn't change, and neither would his. It was the root of many of their arguments.

As he watched her hips sway to the next song, he cleared his throat and shifted. They had many heated arguments, because she was hot-headed and he was stubborn, but they always made up. And their make-up strategy made it all worthwhile.

His earpiece crackled. "Could you please be just a little more obvious, Tuck? Jesus." FDR's hissing voice right against Tuck's eardrum made him wince. He was on the other side of the Blarney Stone, inconspicuously surveying the room. In addition to Chase, Tuck and FDR, Chase's new (and alarmingly green) partner, Benjamin Baker was pacing somewhere nervously near the front. The purpose of tonight's mission was to apprehend Pierre Toussaint and bring him to the field office for questioning to gain his intel before Chase headed off with Benjamin to Paris. The mission was an extremely sore subject for Tuck but nonetheless, it had to be done.

"What're you talking about, mate?" Tuck murmured back, bringing up his hand to his face on the pretense of fiddling with his toothpick but it was really to shield his mouth from anyone that might be watching; Toussaint could afford to be as obnoxiously cocky as he was because he bought his own security to take with him wherever he went. Currently he had about three bodyguards with him. Tuck didn't think they were working particularly hard at the job they were getting paid to do; at least two of them were pissed and the third had his face buried in a pair of surgically enhanced tits.

"Oh, nothing," FDR said sarcastically. "It's my mistake. You aren't eye-fucking the shit out of your fiancée while simultaneously murdering Toussaint in your mind, over and over."

"I'm _observing_, you wanker," Tuck mumbled back. "I'm waiting to hear something of import. Chase, darling, if you wouldn't mind moving things along a bit, love."

She had an earpiece as well, her long hair concealing it; they were all wired. He knew that she was likely quite annoyed at the conversation, especially being discussed without the opportunity to reply. She turned her head ever so slightly off of reflex but caught herself before she fully looked back at him again. She couldn't verbally reply, but Tuck snorted with laughter when he saw her hand snake behind her back and subtly flip him the bird.

Chase was already irritable given the part she was playing in tonight's mission - the distraction. It was actually her and Baker's case, as they were in the counter-terrorism department, but Tuck and FDR had volunteered for additional back-up. Chase always wanted to be as hands-on as possible, but Tuck had made her promise under no uncertain circumstances to play her part that night. "No cowboy shit," he had warned. "Promise me." It had taken a few more minutes of heated back and forth, but eventually she had relented; she couldn't afford to have her cover blown before she even got in-country. They all knew that Toussaint would likely react more favorably toward a lovely young woman rather than a man.

A little too favorably in Tuck's opinion, anger filling him as he watched Toussaint reach out to play with a lock of Chase's hair. "Franklin, find little Ben and let's get this shit moving," Tuck muttered, then moved out from behind the table he was leaning against.

Chase heard him and on the pretense of whirling around to the song, she turned and met his gaze, her eyes narrowing as she shook her head quickly. _Not now,_ her eyes ordered. _Too soon_. Toussaint draped an arm around her shoulders while he clinked beers with one of his "bodyguards", laughing loudly. Chase was supposed to entice him to join her in the back of the bar, luring him into the bathroom for a little alone time. Then, the rest of the team would apprehend him and bring him in. Despite the attractive beauty dancing in front of him, he seemed to be more interested in toasting with his mates than following Chase.

Tuck was anxious to move things along, so he lifted both his scarred brow again and his shoulder. "Sorry, sweetheart," he said quietly. "Your boyfriend isn't being very cooperative." He, FDR, Ben and a few other agents would just have to pluck Toussaint in public. Fortunately, based on the state of his guards, it wouldn't be the hardest job they'd ever done.

Chase glowered at him, and based on the look that flashed angrily into her narrowed eyes, Tuck knew he was going to be in trouble later.

"Little Benjy Baker doesn't seem to be on the premises at the moment," FDR's voice crackled over. Chase and Tuck met eyes sharply. Where had the kid gone? Tuck knew that Ben was only twenty-two, recruited fresh out of college, but he couldn't just up and disappear; it was completely unheard of. "So, what now?"

"Three pissed guards and a skinny Frenchman too much for you to handle, eh, mate?" Tuck asked.

"Hey," FDR said, wounded. "I'm going to be a dad. I've got to be a little responsible, don't I? Make the new kid do it."

"I'm a father," Tuck shot back. "Are you suggesting I am irresponsible?"

"Will you two shut the fuck up!" Chase hissed sharply, finally losing her temper and surprising them both into silence. Tuck watched as Toussaint frowned and leaned down to talk into her unwired ear, presumably asking what she'd said, and Chase had already covered it up smoothly by starting a coughing fit. She smiled up into Toussaint's face, and then, solely to pay Tuck back, he knew, she reached up a hand and stroked his cheek lightly.

"Franklin, get your arse over here, now," Tuck said lightly, and then started moving toward the group at the pool table again.

"Fine," FDR sighed heavily. The man was full of shit; pregnant wife or no, he lived for the action. It was why it only took him ten seconds to push through the crowded room in the front to appear in the back room, grinning at Tuck.

Tuck smirked and took two steps in the group's direction. Then, all hell broke loose.

An enormous explosion rocketed through the bar, shaking the structure and sending people flying for cover. It likely had gone off outside of the building based on the lack of fire and, well, carnage; Tuck knew instantly it was some sort of decoy. He whirled his head back toward the group by the pool table, or what was left of it, frantically searching for Chase; most of the women had gone screaming under tables or toward the exit at the back of the room. Toussaint and his guards looked far more alert, and Tuck saw a short, lithe shadow in a black hoodie yanking at Toussaint's arm, dragging him back toward the exit.

_Fuck_, Tuck thought, shoving through the panicked crowd. He heard screams coming from the front but he only had one focus. He saw that focus emerge from under the pool table, her hair tousled, looking alarmed. FDR was coming around from the other side of the table, having also seen the little figure yanking Toussaint out the door.

"Toussaint!" FDR bellowed, moving toward him quickly. The Frenchman glanced over at the sound of his name being called, and then decided that he'd better get a move on, scurrying out the door with the figure tugging on his arm.

"He's getting away!" Tuck shouted. Toussaint's bodyguards were finally coming around out of their drunken stupors now, following after their boss but looking in the direction of the shouting. If they couldn't get Toussaint, which is what it was starting to look like, they could at least get a guard, maybe more.

Toussaint was long gone, two of his guards with him. Tuck shoved bodies harder; most of the population of the bar had swarmed to the back to get away from the source of the explosion and use the back emergency exit. Unfortunately it made it almost impossible to move anywhere. FDR was experiencing similar difficulty.

Chase glanced back and forth between them, seeing their paths hindered, and reached under her loose, sheer chiffon top. She withdrew her hand, and Tuck saw a stiletto blade gleaming in her hand. She caught his eye, winked again, and even as he was shaking his head and forming the word "No" she turned sharply, and with deadly accuracy, snapped her arm forward and hurled the little blade right into the center of the left shoulder blade of the remaining guard as he was making his way to the door.

He roared like an enraged bull, and Tuck could hear him even over the panicked din of the crowd in the back of the room. He swung around, searching for his attacker. Instead of hiding, Tuck watched as Chase lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers in a little wave.

_This bloody reckless woman, _Tuck thought frantically. A wailing, hysterical woman suddenly grabbed his arms, clearly out of her mind with fear, and Tuck none too gently thrust her aside as the bodyguard staggered toward Chase, her blade sticking out of his back. He started to swing wildly and Chase dodged and ducked his attempted blows with quick, sharp movements. The guard had at least a hundred pounds on her, not to mention almost a foot of height, but Chase didn't bat an eye. FDR was similarly trapped by the crowd on the other side of the room, his eyes glued to the fight that was unfolding.

Chase was going for the knock-out, to make bringing the guard back so much easier, so she ducked and swerved under his still-flailing arms before bringing up her knee to connect with his sternum. Tuck could practically hear the air leaving the man's lungs, and Chase used his momentary stun to drive her elbow into the side of his head. He lurched over, then swung the back of his fist toward her. She managed to catch his arm at the last second, but he threw his own knee into her stomach, then, with one hand, picked her up by the throat and threw her into the pool table.

_Shit! _With renewed purpose, Tuck shouldered brutally through the teeming crowd that was now even more panicked at the violence taking place in the room, unceremoniously tossing people aside in his haste to get to his fiancée. She was down but struggling to her knees, looking dazed. The bodyguard hovered over her before reaching down to grab her hair in his hand and yanked her up. Her mouth opened to cry out and her hands gripped his. She drove two fingers straight into his eyes and he bellowed again and clawed at his face, dropping her. She fell to her knees and delivered an onslaught of heavy, sharp blows centered right into his gut. At that moment, Tuck and FDR reached them both at the same time. Tuck furiously drove his fist into the man's temple, dropping him to his knees, and FDR used the butt of his gun to slam into the back of his head. The guard crumpled to the floor silently.

Just then, hurrying through the crowd, fumbling with a pair of zip ties, Benjamin reached them, his face in absolute panic. Tuck gave him a withering stare and snatched the ties from his hands.

"Oh, hey!" FDR said in mock surprise as Tuck put a knee into the bodyguard's back and began roughly securing him. "Fancy seeing you here, little buddy. Isn't it past your curfew?"

"I'm so sorry, guys," Benjamin panted, his eyes wide. "My earpiece went out, I couldn't hear anything. I started getting worried about what was going on and was heading back here, and then the bomb went off outside and shit hit the fan. I'm really sorry. Ch-chase, you okay?"

The female operative was still lying on the floor, her back propped up against a leg of the pool table. She stared up at him, her large smoky eyes narrowed. "Just peachy," she said.

Tuck finished securing the guard and yanked her knife from his shoulder blade. He caught her eye and tossed her the knife. Her hand shot up and her wrist snapped sharply, grabbing the blade. He clenched his jaw as he took her in; while the bodyguard hadn't landed a single blow to her face, the impact from the throw into the pool table had split open the skin above her eyebrow and he was certain she was hurt elsewhere.

He wanted nothing more than to gather her up in his arms, but he was quite perturbed. _"I promise, no cowboy shit, Tuck,"_ she had said just hours earlier. He glowered at her, and she gave it right back stubbornly.

"All right, Benjy," FDR said. He clapped the young man on the shoulder hard, and he winced. "Let's get homeboy to his feet. I'm gonna show you how to put a suspect to bed."

Tuck moved away as FDR worked with the green agent to haul the bodyguard outside. He reached out and helped Chase to her feet, and she wobbled slightly, unable to hold back a wince of pain.

"Where?" Tuck asked her in a clipped tone, his arm strong around her body.

She bit her lip stubbornly. "I'm good." They took a step forward and Chase faltered, almost tripping.

"Chase," Tuck said brusquely. "Where?"

She blew out a sharp, pained breath, her brow screwing up. "Knee and back," she managed through the pain. Tuck waved people out of the way; the initial fear and shock of the explosion had subsided slightly, and now they were all staring curiously. He knew they assumed they were undercover law enforcement most likely; their clandestine identities were safe. They parted quickly for him, scattering like roaches under a light, and Tuck scooped Chase off her feet into his arms and pushed through the back emergency exit door into the crisp late fall night, hints of winter in the air. Their breaths made thick white puffs in the air, Chase's a little thicker as she was panting in pain.

They all had arrived in a large van parked several blocks away; FDR and Benjamin should have been almost there by now with the bodyguard. Tuck double-timed it, gripping Chase tightly in his arms as he went. They reached the van in record time and Tuck loaded her into the front seat next to Agent Boyles before hurrying around to the back. He hopped in with FDR and Benjamin, seeing Toussaint's bodyguard lying on the floor, his wrists and ankles tethered together, still knocked out.

Tuck reached out and slapped the mesh wire divider separating the front from the back. "Boylie, step on it," he called. The agent obediently pulled off. FDR was already on the phone with Collins, letting their boss know what had happened. Tuck knew that despite the fact that it was almost midnight, the site director would meet them at the field office, impeccably dressed without a hair out of place, to see for herself. She also wanted to make sure her operatives were all right, despite the fact that she would probably never admit it.

Tuck heard Chase groan softly in pain from the front, and he clenched his jaw. "Boylie, little faster if you don't mind, please," Tuck called, his voice tight with stress.

When they reached the field office, Tuck turned to his best friend. "You and the child have it under control?" he asked a little sarcastically. Generally the teasing that Benjamin endured was nothing more than a little friendly hazing; all the newbies went through it. However his voice was a little bit more biting; however green Baker was, he had dropped the ball a little on this mission and Tuck didn't appreciate it. He was not off to a good start.

"Yeah, yeah, we got it," FDR replied, his voice full of understanding. He patted Tuck's shoulder. "Go take care of her."

Tuck carefully extracted Chase from the front seat and arranged her in his arms again. "Tuck, put me down," Chase said, somehow managing to sound pained and annoyed at the same time. "I can walk."

"You can't, not really," Tuck said, walking quickly toward the medic's area. "Besides, until we know the extent of your injuries, allowing you to walk is a bad idea."

Chase lapsed into silence, but she leaned her head against his chest. Tuck felt his insides go a little mushy, but then he remembered that he was mad at her, sort of.

"Medic!" he called, bursting through the on-site clinic double doors. "Need some help."

They spent the next hour there so Chase could have X-rays done on her back and knee. The medic went to bring up and study the digital images, then returned shortly.

"Well, the bad news is that you have some pretty serious contusions, Agent Moreno," he said gravely. Then he smiled a little. "The good news is, they're just contusions. No broken or fractured bones, no spinal damage. Just take it easy for a few days, ice, ibuprofen. You'll be back to normal in no time."

"Thank you," Chase said, smiling in relief.

"I will need to give you a couple stitches for that nasty cut on your forehead though," the medic went on, and Tuck suppressed a laugh at the expression on Chase's face.

"Your favorite," he said with false sweetness.

"Won't take many. And I've got the good stuff, the kind that will just dissolve on its own. It's not too bad, but it needs to be closed and cleaned. You'll have a nice little scar, though."

Chase sighed. "Whatever. Just get it over with. I hate stitches."

She glared at Tuck while the medic set about his task, and Tuck hid his grin behind his fist.

* * *

They made it back to the loft just before two. Since the medic had cleared her, Chase walked on her own, but she walked slowly as her knee was a little swollen.

"How did you even hurt your knee?" Tuck asked, slowing his steps to wait for her and helping her up the short staircase to the front door.

"Cracked it after that asshole threw me into the table," Chase replied with a little grunt, hopping up the stairs on her good leg.

Tuck grew annoyed all over again. "He wouldn't have thrown you anywhere had you not thrown your knife into his back," he said. "And, oh, yeah. Kept your promise not to do anything reckless."

"That _wasn't_ reckless," Chase said automatically. "It was the only option."

"We would have got him," Tuck insisted. "Sooner or later." He unlocked the front door and held it open for her, then followed her inside, ripping off his leather jacket followed by his holster. Chase hobbled to a stool at the bar and unzipped her boots, sliding her feet out of them with a little wince. She smirked at him, and even though he was mad at her - he _was_ - he couldn't help thinking how much he wanted to grab her and kiss her and tell her how relieved he was that she was all right.

"When?" Chase asked sweetly, rolling her ankle and flexing her toes. "Before or after you pulled a 'Neo' and slammed your fist in the ground to make the hundred people around you fly out of the way?"

Tuck folded his arms across his chest. "Well, you could have ducked out of the way when he turned around," he said petulantly. "Instead of _waving_ at him like a bleedin' beauty queen."

Chase considered it, tilting her head. "You're probably right," she said after a moment. She smiled up at him devilishly, and Tuck felt his insides go mushy again. "But the look on his face was priceless. I had to sign my work."

"Chase," Tuck sighed, shaking his head. "I just need you to be more careful."

"And I need you to stop acting like I'm a porcelain doll!" Chase exclaimed. "Tuck, I _am_ trained. This is not my first time, I assure you."

"I know," Tuck muttered. "It's - it's just different to me now. You're going to be my wife, sweetheart. My life would be over if something happened to you." He was talking to the carpet, his arms still folded over his chest, so he didn't notice when she slid off the stool silently and hobbled over to him until she was opening his arms so she could wrap herself in them. Her smile was gentle and sincerely sweet as she touched his cheek gently.

"I know," she murmured, her other hand slipping around to stroke his back. "I know. Mine, too. I know you love me and want me to be safe and I love you too, baby. But I usually know what I'm doing, and I would never put myself in a situation I didn't truly believe I could handle. If for no other reason than I would never want to put you through that kind of pain. Okay?"

Her fingers were soft and soothing against his stubbly cheek, and he nodded reluctantly.

"So you can't be mad at me anymore," she added in the same soft tone, but her smile was slowly becoming naughty again.

"Aye," he said. "I can. Watch me."

She laughed softly at him, her hand sliding down his face, then his neck, and then his chest and abdomen until she reached his belt. "No, you can't."

"Try me," he said, but his voice had suddenly become deep and husky and his body began to stir when her fingers brushed the skin of his abdomen and began to slowly pull his belt open.

"Bet you can't," she whispered against his lips, bringing her face up to his. She suckled gently at his bottom lip, making his body come fully alive for her the way it always did when she did that, and so many other things. She felt it in her hand, and nipped his lip in reply. He couldn't resist, didn't want to, and slid his hands into her hair, feeling passion begin to drop over him like a blanket. He gripped her head firmly in both hands and took her mouth deeply, sucking on her lips and slipping his tongue into her mouth to draw hers out. Simultaneously she began to stroke his hardened length in her hand. He hadn't even been aware that she'd opened his jeans and slipped her hand into his boxer briefs and he groaned into her mouth at the sensation.

He was still feasting on her mouth with his own and barely noticed when she started maneuvering him back toward the couch until he hit it with the back of his legs and tumbled onto it, on his back. She crawled over him, pulling off her chiffony sheer top so he could see her flesh and her cleavage the way he liked.

"Your knee," he managed.

"It's fine," she breathed back, pushing him to lie flat and hovering over his thighs. "Now hush."

He sucked in a sharp breath when she dipped her head and took his length into her warm, wet mouth, squeezing her cheeks around it as she pulled her head up and then pushed it back down. Tuck let his head fall back into the cushions as she used both her mouth and her hand on his rock-hard length. Pleasure invaded his veins and his cells, threatening to burst out of him too early. He tried to control himself, but he made the mistake after a while of lifting his head to watch her. She was intent on her task, her eyes shut in the pleasure she was getting from pleasing him, and her lusciously full lips puckered around his member, leaving shiny slick trails all over him as her mouth grew increasingly wetter, proved too much. After a few more minutes of it, he gripped her hair tightly in his hand.

"Chase, sweetheart," he whispered harshly. "I'm going to come."

As always, she only looked at him, her eyes twinkling, a smile tugging at the corners of the beautiful mouth that was filled with his achingly hard length, and only redoubled her efforts. With a deep, gasping groan and a string of hushed curses, still gripping her hair and unconsciously guiding her movements, Tuck burst into her mouth, his hot seed flooding over her tongue as she continued to bob her head to finish him off completely.

After a moment, her movements slowed and she lifted her head and looked him in the eye. Her throat worked as she swallowed, and then she lowered her head again to lick at his tip where more of his seed was oozing out. Tuck stared at her through hooded eyes, as the afterglow of complete satisfaction enveloped him. He wanted to grab her and rip off her clothing, lay back and draw her hips down to his face and make her grind on his mouth so he could bury his tongue deep within her, but for the moment, he was content to catch his breath and just gaze at her, wondering how in the world he'd gotten so fucking lucky.

Chase crawled up his body with a little smirk, knowing he was too spent to move, and laid against his chest, pulling a blanket over them both. They'd move up to the bedroom eventually but now they were content to simply stay right where they were. He tightened his arms around her and held her close as a little sadness stole through him; she was going to be leaving soon for Paris with Benjamin. He didn't know how long she'd be gone, but he knew he'd miss her terribly. Their moments together like this were numbered as her departure drew nearer and nearer.

Later, after they'd gone upstairs and he'd satisfied himself again by satisfying _her_ per his own desires, and she was tucked in their bed, wrapped in his arms and the blankets and against his chest, he reached for the small object on his nightstand and her hand. She was out cold, he knew. He held up the engagement ring he'd given her; she never, ever wore it on missions. It was a four karat total weight vintage cut ring, with diamonds covering the sides of the band. The delicate ring looked beautiful on her equally delicate hand, and he slipped it down her finger before bringing her fingers to his lips. He pressed a kiss to them, a long, gentle kiss, before wrapping her hand in his and joining her in repose.

He didn't know how many nights like this they would have together, and for some strange reason, as he drifted off, he couldn't help feeling a strange sense of foreboding. He frowned and gathered Chase even more tightly in his arms, causing her to whine a little in her sleep, and drifted off, unwilling to let go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

When Chase cracked her eyes open the next morning, she noticed three things. The first was that Tuck had replaced her engagement ring back onto her finger sometime after she had fallen asleep. The second was that she still had an hour and a half before she needed to be at work. And the third, she thought, wiggling her hips slightly, was that Tuck, who was spooning her, had fallen asleep still inside her after a midnight quickie. And she could feel him growing hard, stretching her walls as he grew, filling her. It was insanely arousing, and the best part was that he wasn't even really awake.

She glanced over her shoulder, seeing that he was still asleep but beginning to stir, his arm tightening around her from where it was draped over her waist. She bit back a sleepy smile, her own eyes still barely open, and began to slowly move her hips, pulling herself off of him and then back on him until he hit her deeply where she loved it most. He was fully hard and now, she was soaking wet. She bit her lip and moaned softly as she pulled off him again. Suddenly his hand landed on her hip and squeezed, stopping her movements. She growled impatiently, feeling him twitch inside her.

"You takin' advantage of me, sweetheart?" Tuck's deep voice was even deeper from sleep, and it sent shudders down her spine as it reverberated in her ear. "That's just wrong."

"Tuck," she whined, trying to move her hips but he gripped them hard, keeping her in place. "Stop playing. I need you."

She jumped when she felt his teeth nip her shoulder. "I don't appreciate being treated like a toy," he murmured into her flesh. "Especially when I was trying to get my beauty sleep. You kept me up late." Suddenly he thrust his hips hard into her and Chase's eyes flew open and she gasped at the sensation of him sharply hitting her most sensitive spot and then her cervix.

"I've got ways to punish greedy girls who interrupt my rest," he went on, his voice somehow growing deeper. He thrust hard into her again and she keened, reaching back for him, but he grabbed her arm and then flipped her onto her stomach, pinning both of her hands above her head, managing to stay inside her. He held his hips still, and it drove her crazy.

"Mm," she murmured throatily, wiggling her bottom against him and making him grunt. "Punish me, punish me." She tried to move her hips on him again, to entice him to give her the deep, hard thrusts she loved and bring her over the edge of the cliff on which she was dangling precariously, but just to be mean, Tuck pressed against her bottom to hold her still. He swept her hair off her neck and then bit into it, making her squeal as it hurt, just a little bit, but in a way she found extremely pleasing. She heard his ragged breathing in her ear, matching her own, and she thrust back on him again, desperate to feel him moving in and out of her.

"Tell me, love," he murmured, drawing her earlobe into his mouth. "Tell me what you need."

His accent alone, spoken out in his gruff, deep voice, made her gush with wetness around him. He felt it and groaned softly in her ear. "Tell me, sweetheart."

"I need you," she moaned softly back. "Please, Tuck." He was torturing her, and himself, holding himself perfectly still inside her.

"Can't hear you, darling," he replied, and teased her ear with his tongue again. He adjusted his weight over her, and the slight movement inside her made her shudder. She was already close. _Enough games,_ she thought. She pushed back on her hands and knees, forcing Tuck backward, and pulled all the way off of him. She whirled around to face him, and saw a look of amusement edged with arousal on Tuck's face as he smiled slightly at her. She reached out, lightning fast, and grabbed him by the throat, throwing him hard onto his back, and moved to swing a leg over him. She resumed her grip on his throat and lined him up at her extremely moist entrance, lowering herself onto him bit by agonizing bit.

"You're so impatient, sweetheart," Tuck managed between deep grumbles of pleasure, one of his hands coming to grip her hip hard. "I love that about you."

Chase began to roll her hips on him, making him curse and grunt her name. "I don't like to be kept waiting," she replied breathlessly. She let out a moan when he lifted his hips, thrusting into her deeply. She moved into a hard, slow ride on him, her hand still wrapped around his throat, and leaned over him, her breasts in his face. He used his free hand to cup one of them, bringing his mouth to her pink, pert nipple, licking it with the flat of his tongue before pulling it into his mouth. Chase felt it building, the dual sensation of her pelvic muscles coiling tighter and tighter and the sensation of his mouth on her nipple working to coat her body in immensely hot, tingling heat. She increased her movements, panting out his name in time to her thrusts. His teeth closed around her nipple and she came apart around him, shuddering, crying out his name, and digging her nails into the skin of his throat.

With a snarl, Tuck grabbed her hips and flipped her onto her back, even as she was still coming. He locked her wrists together in one hand, reaching down to pull one of her legs over his shoulder, and proceeded to pound into her mercilessly. "So fuckin' _wet_," he mumbled into her neck, his hips moving with sharp accuracy. She felt fluid burst out of her around him and trickle down the center of her bottom, and she knew they'd need a towel when they were through. In the meantime, his thrusts were hitting places inside her that were making her lose her breath. She opened her mouth to cry out, but nothing would come out. It was a delicious cocktail of pleasure and pain, and she was drunk off of it.

"Come for me, darling," Tuck murmured throatily in her ear. "Come for me again."

He lifted his head to look down into her eyes and she drank him in; his gorgeous face, his incredible lips, his amazing body covered in the tattoos that just made him irresistibly sexy, his bedroom prowess and extreme generosity where pleasuring her was concerned, and his deep voice and _that accent_.

Chase thought of all these things, and then realized for the millionth time that they were hers, all hers, for a lifetime, and she burst apart around him hard enough to go blind for just a second. "Tuck, I love you," she whimpered. "God, I fucking love you." She wasn't sure if it was her climax or her words that brought him over, but he came careening headlong off the cliff after her, pressing her body hard into the mattress, gripping whatever flesh of hers fell under his hot, grasping hands.

"I love you, sweetheart," he mumbled back, panting into her neck. "My God, you're going to be the death of me."

She giggled a little, biting her lip as he withdrew from her and arranged himself around her. He brushed her forehead with his lips and twirled his fingers in her dark wavy hair.

"How much time do we have," Chase murmured sleepily. She felt his body tense as he craned his neck to look at the clock on the nightstand.

"You've got about thirty minutes for a snooze before you need to be in the shower," he replied, nuzzling her neck. Warmth flooded her as it always did when he touched her.

"Mm," she said. "You better let me shower in peace this time."

"You're a phenomenal multi-tasker," he said, kissing her pulse. "Collins always says so. You can get ready for work while I, you know, handle other business."

"Collins will not appreciate me being late on interrogation morning," Chase reminded him, snuggling into his chest. "Now, shut up and hold me and let me sleep."

Tuck chuckled and gathered her body against him. She knew he wouldn't go back to sleep, as he was in general an early riser. It was quite the perk in Chase's eyes, as she often woke to a freshly cooked breakfast and a cup of coffee exactly the way she liked it. She dozed off, and it felt like just moments later when Tuck was shaking her awake. She groaned and rubbed her eyes, noting that Tuck was already showered and mostly dressed, his dress shirt unbuttoned and a belt slung over his shoulder.

"Come on, love," he said, gently tugging a lock of her hair. "Get up, eh?"

Chase groaned, struggling to a sitting position. "Are you going to feed me?"

"If you get off your arse, maybe," Tuck replied, leaning down to give her a big smacking kiss on the cheek. "Now go."

Chase yawned enormously and grumbled, hoisting herself off the bed. "All right, all right." Her knee felt tender and was bruised hideously, but the swelling had gone down a little thanks to the ibuprofen she'd popped before bed. She took some more once she reached the bathroom and then hopped in the shower.

When she emerged from the bathroom half an hour later she went into the closet to get dressed, moving a little faster now that she was a bit more awake and spurred on by the first pangs of hunger in her stomach. She put on a cream colored sleeveless silk dress with a skinny leopard print belt cinched around her waist, and stepped into a pair of mint green peep-toe pumps, adding pair of small gold hoop earrings and a gold bracelet. She smoothed down a few hairs that had come loose from the sleek twist she had styled her hair into and studied herself in her full length mirror as she spritzed herself with a little perfume. She looked neat, but her exposed knee provided a violent contrast to her tidy and kempt appearance; it was dark purple, covering the kneecap and extending up into her lower thigh. She also had a couple of butterfly bandages over the cut on her brow. But somehow the injuries didn't bother her; in fact, they brought a little smile to her face. They were evidence of a job well done.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon wafted upstairs into her nose, and she turned as if following the scent, heading quickly for the stairs. She'd kept her stomach waiting long enough, she thought as her mouth began to water from the aroma. Tuck's specialty was breakfast food, and this morning he didn't disappoint; he had bacon frying and eggs scrambling, coffee brewing and bread toasting. His shirt was still undone, a dish towel tossed over his shoulder, but his belt was finally around his waist, even if it was unbuckled. He glanced over his shoulder at Chase as she strolled into the kitchen, smiling with eager anticipation as she leaned over his shoulder.

"Smells good," she remarked, then leaned in to kiss his cheek. "The food smells nice too."

He chuckled, his eyes taking her in quickly from head to heel. He quirked a brow at the sight of her knee. "That's…attractive," he commented.

"Oh, bugger off," she said, mimicking his crisp accent perfectly. "You're just mad you don't have any war wounds of your own."

"I might have if you'd just listened to me and stood back like you were supposed to," Tuck replied irritably, fresh annoyance filling him.

Chase only laughed at him. He set a plate before her on the breakfast bar and watched as she delicately tucked a napkin into the scoop neckline of her silk dress, tucking the bottom into her belt. "So fastidiously obsessive," he observed, a half-grin tugging at his mouth. She made a face at him and opened her mouth to snipe back but became immediately distracted when he handed her a mug of coffee. She checked it carefully to make sure it was creamed and sugared, as she preferred it, then gave him a charming smile when she saw that it was.

Tuck leaned against the counter, holding his own plate as he ate standing up. It was a habit that annoyed Chase to no end, but she was normally willing to overlook it in the morning. "When we have kids," she would tell him, "I don't want them to think that standing up and eating is the norm. I want us to eat as a family, sitting down at the table." The thought of having kids with Tuck brought a smile to her face. She didn't know when they'd be ready to have their own, but she knew it wouldn't be for a year or two at least. Right now, her main focus was work. And, she added as an afterthought, planning their wedding.

She wasn't hugely on board with the notion of having a big, fancy wedding. She would have been fine with a private ceremony with just her and Tuck, but he had been the one to push for a bigger, more traditional ceremony with their family and friends. He'd been married once before and he said that he and Katie had done it at the courthouse. This time around, he wanted to do it "the right way" with a ceremony and a reception. "I want to see you in a lovely dress with pretty flowers and a cake and all of that, darling," he'd said. "Most of all I want our families and friends to be there. I want everyone to see you as the princess you've always been to me."

It was the last sentence that had made her go all mushy inside and relent; whenever Tuck referred to her as his princess, she found herself unable to tell him no to anything he was presently asking for. Aside from getting her to agree to the wedding ceremony, it had also made for some extremely kinky nights in bed that involved a variety of toys and accessories, not to mention a camcorder. She smirked a little to herself as she nibbled a slice of bacon.

"What sort of devilment are you meditatin' now?" Tuck asked, seeing her smile. He sipped his coffee and set his plate in the sink. "That little smirk always makes me nervous."

"Oh, nothing," she replied. "Just thinking about the wedding."

"You've got two months to change your mind," he teased. "You sure you want to move forward and be my missus forever, love?"

Chase gave him a look and grabbed her plate, bringing it to the sink. She turned toward him and slipped her arms around his waist, craning her neck slightly to kiss his chin.

"Never more sure," she replied quietly. "These two months can't go by fast enough."

He smiled and gave her a firm kiss on her lips and then looked at his watch. "Gotta go, love. Gonna be late." He patted her bottom, then turned to button his shirt and tuck it into his slacks. Chase grabbed her business satchel and her purse, and they headed outside to Tuck's truck. They listened to their favorite morning radio show on the way into the office, laughing out loud at times and talking quietly about the commentary. Chase, as she always did every morning, held his right hand as he drove with his left.

They badged into the secure building, and then Tuck gave her another quick kiss. "Have a good day, sweetheart," he said with a wink, and headed off in the direction of his desk while Chase headed for hers. She started to climb the stairs, then paused and glanced over her shoulder. She couldn't help enjoying watching Tuck walk away, as she always did. His backside was one her favorite parts of him.

As though he had the same idea, Tuck glanced over his own shoulder in her direction. They locked eyes, and he waggled a finger at her in a playfully stern way before turning back around to continue on to his desk. Chase laughed aloud and began walking up the stairs again, shaking her head to herself.

_I love that man,_ she thought.

* * *

Chase watched from the balcony as Boyles and Bothwick struggled with Toussaint's bodyguard as they brought him to the interrogation room. She folded her arms, studying the man. He was huge, to be sure, and heavily muscled and skilled, but that didn't intimidate her. She wasn't easily intimidated by much.

"For this first time around," she said over her shoulder to Benjamin, "you're just gonna observe from the tech room. Okay? If two people are in there, and it looks like only one of them knows what they're doing, they immediately lose credibility with the suspect or witness. You good with that?"

"Yes, ma'am," Benjamin said a little breathlessly. "I'm good with that."

According to her records, the bodyguard was one Nichol Monaghan from Canada. He was in the United States illegally, and had been Toussaint's bodyguard since he'd touched down in-country a couple months ago. As Toussaint paid his bodyguards astronomical sums to buy their loyalty and their discretion, it wasn't hard to imagine that naughty Nichol knew a thing or two about what the missing Frenchman was up to.

She gathered up her case files and took to the stairs, her knee aching with every bend. Benjamin trailed behind her. She nodded to Boyles and Bothwick as they emerged from the interrogation room. They both looked slightly rumpled and sweaty.

"Problem, boys?" she asked mildly, lifting her brows and regretting when she felt her stitches tug a little in the tender skin.

"He's – he's a handful this morning, ma'am," Boyles said, red-faced and a little breathless. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. "Be careful with him."

"I will," Chase said cheerfully. "Thanks, guys. Please take Benjamin to the tech room and make sure the interrogation room is brought up on screen. He's going to observe and take notes." The two seasoned agents nodded, leading the rookie off toward the tech room. Chase pushed through the doors of the interrogation room and walked calmly to the table behind which Nichol was seated with his wrists and ankles shackled. She gave him a friendly smile and sat down across the table from him.

"You're the girl from the bar," he said slowly, recognition dawning in his eyes. "You – you're part of this?"

"This is my case, actually," Chase said smoothly. "My name is Chase Moreno. I have some questions to ask you, and I sure hope you're feeling in a cooperative mood today." Nichol only looked at her, uncertainty on his face. For all of Boyles' talk of Nichol being a "handful" this morning, the man was surprisingly docile now. "I hear you gave a couple of my agents a hard time this morning."

"I'm not sure what I _did_," Nichol said defensively. "I got hired to be some guy's bodyguard. I took a knife in the back and then I got knocked out. Next thing I know, I'm being treated like a damn criminal."

"You feel your treatment has been unfair?" Chase asked. "If so I genuinely would like to know."

"Hell, yeah, it's been unfair," Nichol said.

"Well," Chase said, rising slowly to her feet and pacing. "That is tough. It's always heartbreaking when a criminal gets upset for being treated like a criminal."

"I didn't _do_ anything," Nichol insisted. "I was _working_."

Chase lifted an eyebrow, cursing to herself when she felt her stitches tug. "Getting wasted at a bar is working?"

"There are some benefits to that job," Nichol admitted. "But I was still with my boss. Now tell me what the hell I did to deserve all of this!" He jerked against his cuffs.

"How about sneaking into the country illegally, for one?" Chase asked, opening and slapping a folder down in front of him. It was a picture of him sent to her by the Department of Homeland Security as well as information on his date of departure from Canada and when he snuck onto United States soil. "And working for an informant to a known terrorist family who is an enemy of this country, for another." She leaned across the table. "I know you know he's getting national secrets and selling them to other countries," she said quietly. "Why don't you just tell me where Toussaint is now, and who is giving him the intel."

"I don't know anything, honest," Nichol babbled.

Chase sighed. "Mr. Monaghan," she said. "If you don't cooperate, you'll be deported back to Canada. From what I understand, you led a less-than-stellar life there, including some instance regarding attempted murder. I'm sure they'd love to have their way with you." She tilted her head. "Now, can you be a good boy and tell me what I want to know? There might be a deal to work out here."

For all his two hundred twenty-five pounds of muscle, and six-four frame, Nichol Monaghan was as soft as pissy toilet paper and burbled forth everything he knew. Chase was a little disappointed at how easy it was.

According to the bodyguard, Toussaint was due to catch a private jet back to Paris the same night as the raid on the bar. By now, he said, he imagined that the Frenchman was already back home and dealing with the al-Fahsihds, plotting their next move. Nichol swore up and down he had no idea who the stateside informant was who was feeding Toussaint all of his information. That had never been revealed. Chase studied him through narrowed eyes; she had extraordinary people skills and could easily detect when someone was lying. Her gut told her that Nichol was telling the truth.

"Our chatter has been picking up that there is going to be some attack on the US Embassy in Paris," she said. "But we don't know what or when. Tell me what this is all about."

"The al-Fahsihds are going to bomb it," Nichol said. "Your president is going to be heading to Paris soon with the British prime minister. There's going to be a big meeting of the leaders of a lot of countries at the US Embassy. Some sort of 'meeting of the global minds' or something. Basically a PR stunt. But the al-Fahsihds are planning to detonate a bomb that day. Partly to assassinate a lot of high ranking government officials but also as a decoy to break into the Embassy and get even more country secrets. You have no idea what North Korea, Russia, Iraq, Kosovo are willing to pay for information on the United States."

"When is this meeting taking place?" Chase asked in a clipped tone.

"It's next week," Nichol said. "But I don't know the exact date. I'm sorry."

Chase pushed out of the room a little while later after calling to have Nichol returned to his holding cell. Without waiting for Benjamin to catch up, she ran up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time despite her heels and dress. She burst into Collins' office unceremoniously and the CIA field office director looked at her in surprise.

"It's worse than we thought, ma'am," Chase blurted. "They're going to bomb the embassy and assassinate the president."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey guys! Glad you're liking the latest installment of the TMW sequel :-) I've been heavy on the lemon fluff, I know, but...it won't be lasting long. You know me. I like to make you feel all warm and squishy inside and then stab you in the heart. :-) KISSES!**

**P.S. This one's for you, Jessica. Please stop eyeballing me now. **

**Chapter 3**

Even as she was saying the words, Chase felt like she was sharing the plot of some shittily acted, big-budget, flashy action movie. She supposed that was part of the irony; people watched these things in films, comforting themselves that they didn't really, couldn't really happen in real life, but there it was.

Collins was studying her in that cool manner she had, recovered from her initial surprise. "Monaghan told you this? Just now?"

Chase nodded. "Our little friend down there was very forthcoming about it all." She stopped, tilting her head in thought. "_Surprisingly_ forthcoming, actually."

Collins nodded slowly. "And what does that tell you?"

Chase sighed. "There's something greater at play here. While I think he _was_ being truthfully forthcoming with everything he knew…there's something else at work going on that he knows nothing about. Almost as though…he was _told _to say that if he got pinched. Because Toussaint would have had to have believed that was a possibility."

"Correct. Did he say where Toussaint is now?"

"Back in Paris," Chase replied. "Said he hopped a jet last night to go back home."

"Then it looks like you and Baker are going to be heading out a little sooner than you thought," Collins said. "We can't sit on this; we need to find out what else is going on."

"Yes, ma'am," Chase replied. "When did you have in mind?"

"Let me make some calls," Collins said. "We were going to have the two of you fly commercial at first to protect your covers, but the urgency of this situation makes me think we need to get a hold of the military so you can take a hop to get out there as soon as possible."

_Just give me one or two more days,_ Chase silently begged. Being that she had no idea how long any of this was going to take, she had several loose ends and appointments she needed to take care of before traveling abroad on assignment. She and Benjamin were going to be working undercover at the US Embassy in Paris while sniffing out the al-Fahsihd family and gathering enough intel to bring them down for good. Currently, they had start dates at the Embassy at the top of the next week, but at this rate, they'd be doing some intel-gathering for a few days before they officially started there if Collins sent them earlier than scheduled. They each had flats in Paris, in different buildings to give the impression they did not know each other beyond, at most, working at the Embassy. Even there, they would be in completely different departments.

And now, with this latest revelation – that her instincts were _screaming_ at her were correct – there was something deeper, something not yet revealed or hinted at, that was at play that she was going to have to uncover. It was hard, though, to imagine things getting much worse than the Embassy being bombed and the United States president, along with several other global leaders, at the heart of assassination plots. And the thought of the potential loss of life between high-ranking officials, employees and visitors made her sick to her stomach and suddenly anxious to get over there and dive in completely to halt the plot.

"I'll be ready and waiting, ma'am," Chase said quietly, and Collins nodded and dismissed her. Chase returned to her desk, dropping into her chair and staring moodily at her computer screen. The chances of a CIA site director being able to procure two spots on a military hop for a mission abroad were very, very good. And Chase and Benjamin would have no choice but to go when Collins said it was time to go. Chase had already packed for her trip, being the obsessive control freak she had the tendency to be occasionally. She was ready to go at any time.

Her eyes fell on a framed picture of herself and Tuck at the corner of her desk, taken at her thirtieth birthday party last fall. It was also the day that Tuck had proposed to her. She might be ready to go at any time, but she could never be ready to leave him. Saying goodbye to each other and their loved ones was the hardest part of either of their jobs, for the simple fact that normally, they didn't know the location or duration of the other's mission. This one was a little different because Tuck was sort of involved and he knew that she was going to Paris and what the objective of the mission was. She wished that he could just come to Paris with her, but as he and FDR were in supporting roles, there was no way they could have four operatives on this case. It was cut and dry – observe the family, gather intelligence, take them down.

_And thwart a bombing, an assassination plot, and some other as yet undetermined nefarious scheme_, Chase thought sarcastically to herself. She jumped a little when her cell phone buzzed and pulled it out of her desk drawer. It was Lauren, FDR's wife, her good friend, and most recently, bridesmaid.

She was talking before Chase hardly had a chance to say hello. "So, I hope you're able to sneak out of the office a little early today. I know you've got a lot on your work plate but I had to really beg the owner of Wedding Design Concepts to stay open late enough to let you try on your dress before you leave. Which is when, by the way? I know you can't tell me anything but I just need to get the timeline straight. Also your sister is all booked to fly out here from New York. I told her we can't really plan anything because of your job, and no, I didn't tell her what that is, and she's frustrated but willing to fly by the seat of her pants if necessary. Bridal showers are usually at least a month before the ceremony but you said that won't work, so we're going to have the shower the day before the wedding. Will that work for you?"

Chase's eyes had glazed over at the rapid onslaught of wedding-related information that Lauren was spewing at her. "Uh," she said dully, then shook herself. "Day before. Yes. Good."

"You and Tuck are registered, right?"

"Um, no," Chase said, and then cringed when Lauren let out a frustrated shriek. "Listen, _you_ know all the products better than I do, right? Just – just register for me. You know me well enough by now to know what I like. Nothing too expensive, nothing lame like china."

"Got it, got it," Lauren said irritably. "All right. I'll take care of it. Now, what about today?"

"I'll sneak out as early as I can but that lady has fifteen minutes," Chase said. "I think I'm leaving sooner than I thought, and I want to spend as much time with Tuck before I go."

"_Excuse_ you," Lauren said, sounding offended. Chase laughed.

"Yes. You, too. But mostly with Tuck."

"All right. Well, I'll see you at five at the shop," Lauren said, her tone vaguely threatening. "Don't be late!"

* * *

At promptly five o'clock, Chase got out of her taxi in front of the bridal shop. Before leaving the office she told Tuck that she had some wedding-related errands to run. He was staying late to work on some files and had agreed to meet her at the sushi place down the street from where she'd be. Chase knew it was very likely that FDR would join him, as she was with Lauren. It was only natural.

Chase smiled to herself as she pushed into the shop, pulling her sunglasses off face. The shop was very small, but it was very sophisticated and had come highly recommended from Lauren. It had a sister shop in Las Vegas, which was where Lauren had gotten her own bridal gown.

"There she is!" Lauren called from the back of the room where she was standing with Trish, her best friend. She had also become a good friend to Chase, despite her penchant for raunchy remarks spoken solely to get a rise out of people. "Right on time."

Chase crossed the room to the two women. She gave Trish a little hug and kissed Lauren on her cheek, then rubbed her just-blossoming belly. "Hi, baby," Chase said to her stomach. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, decent, I guess," Lauren replied, her hand automatically going to her stomach. "I just have gnarly morning sickness and I want to eat everything in sight. Particularly anything sweet. Like, I ate an entire bag of Halloween-size Kit Kats in the fifteen minutes I was waiting for you. I sincerely hope this baby doesn't come out with gestational diabetes."

Chase laughed. "It won't," she reassured her friend. "Don't be paranoid. These kinds of cravings are normal. Just don't go too crazy."

"At worst, your baby will just come out really super fat," Trish added. "Not always a bad thing."

"It is when me giving birth is like trying to shove a watermelon through a keyhole," Lauren muttered. "All right, let's get this show on the road!"

Chase entered the lavish dressing room and removed her silk dress, then reached for her gown. She had to admit that she absolutely loved it. She had pretty simple taste, and she didn't want to hassle with a poufy gown in Nana's backyard. She pictured something light, flowing; almost ethereal. As a result, the gown she had selected was a soft ivory color, setting her olive skin off to perfection, and it was made of layers of thin, sheer chiffon. The neckline was a draped sweetheart shape, with molded cups sewn into the bodice to accommodate the entire back being cut out in a diamond shape. The only true embellishment of the dress were the skinny straps covered in Swarovski crystals that went over her shoulders and crossed in the middle of her back. The cutout design showed off her long, leanly muscled back and accentuated her trim but curvy figure, with the point of the diamond ending just slightly above her tail bone and drawing the eye to the shape of her backside. The dress hugged the curve of her hips before dropping straight to floor. The dress itself was trainless, although the back did extend out ever so slightly. The real "train" effect came with her mantilla-style, cathedral-length veil, edged in alencon lace. It was a nod to her Spanish roots and complemented the dress beautifully.

Lauren and Trish burst into applause when she emerged from the dressing room. "You look stunning," Trish said, and then to Chase's amazement, Lauren's huge blue eyes filled with tears.

"I'm sorry," she said in reply to Chase's look of surprise. "I'm knocked up. I'm emotional. This happens. You look beautiful. You're going to be so happy together." She blew her nose on a tissue. "What are you going to do with your hair?"

"I'm thinking a low messy side bun with a big-ass flower behind my ear," Chase mused, holding her hair to the side in an approximation of the style. "These waves have a mind of their own, so it's best for me to not try to be too coiffed. Widen the margin for error a bit."

"And shoes?" Trish asked after nodding her approval and agreement. "What are we thinking? Four-inch fuck-me heels? Six-inch sex stilettos?"

Chase shook her head; her penchant for high heels was notorious among them by this point and Trish's colorful descriptors made her snort. "Actually," she said, almost wryly. "You're not going to believe this, but, being that it's a backyard wedding and everything – I actually was going to wear these flat, delicate little silver sandals. They're glorified, gilded flip flops, actually. The thong part has Swarovski crystals, though."

"Did you say _flat?_" Lauren repeated in amazement. "I can't believe this!"

"Flip flops?" Trish said at almost the exact same time. "Are you shitting me?"

"Who wants to navigate a grassy lawn with stilettos?" Chase shot back defensively. "Besides, I want to be comfortable that day. You know, dance and walk around and stuff."

"No judgment," Lauren replied, lifting her hands in the air and shooting Trish a pointed look. The older woman shook her head and waved dismissively. "That dress is so gorgeous, and long enough to where you could go barefoot and I would say nothing at all."

"I would," Trish said firmly. "I would definitely say something."

"No, you wouldn't," Lauren said emphatically.

"Yeah, right," Chase replied with a laugh. "Let's not go that far!"

The dress fit and flowed to Chase's utter satisfaction, requiring no more alterations as far as she was concerned, so before she and Lauren went to meet Tuck and FDR, Lauren stashed the dress in her car for safekeeping. Trish opted out of the meal, announcing that it was Wednesday evening and she needed to prepare for her and Bob's weekly nine o'clock ritual. Lauren and Chase strolled arm-in-arm down the block to the sushi place, and Tuck and FDR were already seated at a little table for four, laughing uproariously about something over beers.

"We can go somewhere else," Chase said to Lauren. "I know pregnant women can't eat sushi."

"It's okay," Lauren replied. "I'll eat rice. And teriyaki chicken. That actually sounds better to me than sushi, for once."

They pushed into the restaurant. "Hey, Ken," Lauren called to one of the sushi chefs behind the bar. He and his fellow chef shouted back a greeting in Japanese, smiling broadly at the women as they took seats next to their men.

"No more sushi for one!" Ken called across the restaurant, causing Lauren to grin and roll her eyes. He eyed her belly. "Sushi for…two?"

"That's right," Lauren replied, rubbing her belly as FDR leaned into peck her cheek. "Sushi for two. Actually, no sushi at all right now!"

"How were your errands, love?" Tuck asked Chase, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tugging her closer to him. She accepted his kiss on her cheek and gave him one in return.

"Oh, fine," Chase replied evasively, smiling innocently. "Productive."

"I'm sure you looked gorgeous in that dress," Tuck went on calmly, sipping at a bottle of Asahi beer. He jumped and spluttered when Chase smacked him hard on the arm. "What?" he exclaimed.

"Did you follow me?" she demanded.

"No!" Tuck insisted, holding up his hands in surrender.

"Were you spying on me?" Chase asked, narrowing her eyes.

"I just might have seen Lauren's car parked down the street," Tuck admitted, somewhat abashed. "I just was curious which shop you were in. I didn't peek in or anything."

"He did, actually, but he couldn't see anything, is what he means," FDR chimed in. Tuck looked at him witheringly.

"Thanks, mate," he said sarcastically. "Always good to know you've got my back."

"Hey," FDR said. He pointed at Lauren. "I'll do anything to avoid the wrath of a tiny pregnant blonde. Even if it means throwing your ass under the bus."

"Right," Tuck replied. "Thanks." He turned to Chase and gave her favorite smile, the one he used frequently to charm her out of being annoyed or her panties. "I promise you, sweetheart, try though I did, I saw nothing."

"Okay," Chase said, allowing him another kiss begrudgingly.

"Who knew you were such a stickler for tradition?" FDR exclaimed. "You always struck me as the justice-of-the-peace type of gal."

"I thought so, too," Chase admitted. "But someone convinced me otherwise, and now I'm a regular bridezilla."

"Hardly," Lauren scoffed. "Anyone that would let me register for them is not a bridezilla."

"Register for us why?" Tuck asked, glancing at his fiancée. "I thought we were going to do that this weekend."

"Uh," Chase hedged. "Well –" She stopped, glancing helplessly at Lauren. The blonde took the hint immediately.

"I think I have to pee again," she said lightly, rising to her feet. "I'll be right back."

Chase smiled gratefully and waited until Lauren had disappeared into the bathroom before leaning forward. "It looks like Benjamin and I will be leaving for Paris sooner than planned," she said quietly to the two men. "Instead of flying commercial, Collins is arranging for military transport for us. Could be in the next couple days. She said to stand by."

"Oh, smashing," Tuck grumbled.

"What's the sudden urgency?" FDR asked with a shrug.

"You mean aside from the plot to blow up the American Embassy and assassinate a number of global leaders including our president, not to mention murdering potentially thousands of innocent bystanders?" Chase asked sarcastically. "The fact that there's something else at work here besides what we already know. Toussaint's bodyguard was _far_ too forthcoming with me this morning. It sounded very practiced, as though he'd been given permission to not only say something, but coached on precisely _what _to say if he, or any of them, I'm betting, got pinched." She pursed her lips and stared down at her beer. "He's a good little lapdog, that one."

"Sounds urgent," FDR said. "You should get on that." Chase merely shook her head at him. "Look, I'm giving you shit. I agree with Collins, this can't wait." He glanced at Tuck. "You okay there, buddy?"

Tuck shrugged. "Fine," he replied. "Sooner she gets out there, hopefully the sooner she can get back."

Chase patted his hand. "Don't worry about me," she said, then rolled her eyes when Tuck lifted his scarred eyebrow at her. "_Try_ not to worry about me." Just then, her phone rang and she dug through her purse to pull it out. It was a text from Collins.

"You leave tomorrow a.m.," the message read. "Report to the office and you and Baker will be escorted to LAAFB where the hop will be waiting to take you straight to Paris."

Chase felt her face fall. _So much for getting a couple extra days to tie up loose ends, _she thought sadly. _So much for a couple extra days with Tuck._

"What is it, love?" Tuck asked, watching her face intently.

"Speak of the devil," Chase said with a heavy sigh, dropping her phone back into her bag. "We leave tomorrow morning from LA Air Force Base. Direct hop to Paris."

"Tomorrow," Tuck repeated. He shook his head slightly. Chase watched him, feeling torn. On the one hand, she knew as well as Tuck did and vice versa that this was the nature of their job. On the other, she hated the way he looked so forlorn, and knew that the "missing" was already setting in.

He glanced at her, then took her hand and lifted it to his lips. "Then, we'd better make the best of the rest of our night, hadn't we?" he said lightly, and Chase smiled at him.

Lauren approached the table hesitantly. "Safe to come out now?" she asked.

"Yes, come on," FDR replied, waving her over. "Chase has to leave tomorrow."

"For…work?" Lauren asked. Chase nodded. "Damn, that was fast. Well. I know better than to ask how long you'll be gone…so I won't."

"Thanks," Chase said. "I know I'm leaving things in good hands."

"Just promise me you'll be back for the birth of my child," Lauren added.

"Lauren, that's like, seven and a half months from now," Chase pointed out patiently.

"I know. I'm just reminding you."

"I'm pretty sure you don't have anything to worry about." Chase directed her comment at Lauren, but squeezed Tuck's hand under the table.

They returned home within a couple hours and Chase went through the bags she had pre-packed and were ready to go. She had created a thorough pack list last month on her tablet, and pulled it up now as she meticulously cataloged all of her packed items against her list. She triple checked everything, and when she was satisfied, she began moving them down by the door to ensure as little fuss as possible in the morning. She had two large suitcases and a duffel bag; she planned for a month, but hoped for less.

"Here, let me help you." Tuck emerged from the spacious walk-in closet they shared and picked up one of her suitcases. He'd been silent on the way home and had left her alone to look over her things.

"Thank you," she said softly, following him down the stairs. He took her duffel bag from her and laid it across the top of her suitcases.

"Hope your entire wardrobe will be enough for this trip," Tuck joked, then cleared his throat. The little smile that had been on his face slipped away. Chase sighed, and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"This is more than you just simply missing me," she said gently. "What's going on?"

Tuck glanced into her face, and she could tell that he was debating on how honest to be with her. Finally he sighed. "I don't like the idea of you going to Paris on a mission this dangerous with Benjamin," he admitted.

"Why?" Chase asked. She smiled coyly, trying to inject some lightness and humor. "Afraid I'll fall in love with the kid and stay there forever?"

"Not even slightly remotely," Tuck replied without missing a beat. "What I _am _afraid of is his inexperience, and him dropping the ball on a case like this and not getting your back, much like what happened last night at the bar. He's green, Chase, and it scares the shit out of me." He shook his head in frustration. "I don't know what Collins was thinking, sending someone this green on a case like this. She may as well have sent you by yourself. In fact, that would have been preferable."

"He's a great hacker," Chase reminded him. "He knows his way around weapons pretty well. He's…not entirely useless." She smiled. "Look, I'll be in as much contact as I can. Okay?" She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to it, right on the side under his pulse, and he shivered a little as she knew he would. "Besides," she went on, her voice dropping a little. "This will give us a chance to try out Skype sex."

"Skype sex?" Tuck repeated, lifting an eyebrow at her.

"Yeah. You know, strip and fondle."

Tuck laughed out loud in spite of himself and Chase smiled in relief. She just wanted to make him laugh and shake him out of the funk he was in. "I suppose so. Although, I infinitely prefer the real thing." He scooped her up and she let out a little squeal as he began hurrying up the stairs. "It's getting late, soon-to-be Mrs. Hansen, and we've got quite a full night."

"But, Mr. Hansen," Chase said a little breathlessly. "I need my beauty sleep! I've got quite a big day ahead of me."

"You can sleep on the flight," he said lightly, and entered their bedroom, using his foot to shut the door. He tossed her onto the bed. "Now get naked."

It started off playfully, each of them yanking at each other's clothing in an effort to disrobe as fast as possible, but once Tuck moved over her, pulling the covers around them, the moonlight streaming in through the blinds, the lightness of their mood fell away and the full force of her looming departure fell over them both.

Tuck dipped his head, taking Chase's lips in a tender kiss as he lay on top of her. For a moment, she could only focus on the warmth of his skin against hers, the sweetness of his mouth and the way the synapses in her brain burst with love for him. His fingers dug into her hair as if he never intended to release her or let her get away from him. She wrapped her legs around the back of his thighs to pull him even closer to her body as their lips continued to move together, tongues caressing each other, hands stroking each other's skin.

He moved his lips down her neck and over each of her collarbones, then down to her breasts to tickle each nipple with his tongue before drawing them into his mouth and suckling gently. Chase groaned in appreciation, her skin tingling with every little tug of his mouth. She felt her nipples grow hard on his tongue, moist from his attention. He kissed his way down her stomach, dipping his tongue into her bellybutton for a moment, enjoying the way she squealed a little and squirmed against the tickling sensation. He moved his lips lower to where her thighs joined her body, kissing and licking down the tendons there on each side, before skimming her folds lightly with his tongue, as light as a breath. She involuntarily shifted her hips upward, desperate to feel his mouth fully on her. He kissed the soft flesh of her inner thighs then used the tip of his tongue to part her folds before lapping firmly against her. She keened softly and tilted her hips again, trying to grind against his mouth. He flicked her hardening pearl at the top of her sex rapidly with the tip of his tongue, then swirled into her flesh. His tongue felt delightfully soft and wet and he feasted on her hungrily, as though he were a prisoner sentenced to execution and she was his last meal. He grabbed her hips and held them in place as he worked his mouth all over her, seemingly everywhere at once. She felt his tongue flicking against her pearl, lapping against her soft, wet folds and then burrowing deep into her walls. She was hardly aware that she was moaning, and loudly, until she felt her moans rise and then shatter into a little shriek when she finally came apart in his mouth, shaking and gasping and pressing his face against her.

Suddenly he was moving up her body, dipping his tongue, coated in her juices, into her mouth and pressing his hips hard against hers. Chase let out a soft grunt when Tuck pushed his long, hard length into her soft, tight, wet core, his thickness and length filling her and taking her breath away for just a moment as it always did whenever he first entered her. Her walls stretched and then closed around him snugly, her wetness giving him just what he needed to begin moving in and out of her smoothly, growling a little each time he felt her tighten and clench around him. He wrapped one arm underneath her and stroked her face with his other hand as he moved. He leaned his forehead against hers.

"I'm going to miss you, sweetheart," he murmured against her cheek. He thrust his hips a little harder, just once, and she moaned softly. Her hands scrabbled at his shoulders as she strained to lift her hips to meet each thrust.

"I'm going to miss you, too, baby," she breathed back. "I already do." She wrapped her lips around his bottom one and nibbled gently, breathing hard through her nose as her stomach muscles contracted more tightly when he thrust deep into her again. She felt her walls grip him like a vise and in turn, he began to mumble unintelligibly into her neck as he moved his hips faster and harder.

"Promise me you'll be careful," he said into her neck, his voice muffled slightly.

Chase's mouth fell open and her eyes stared off over his shoulder, unseeing, as she felt her muscles contracting around him and the white-hot heat inside her pelvis grew even hotter. "I promise," she managed.

"Promise me you won't do anything reckless." The tip of him hit her cervix and she gasped and shuddered.

"Promise," she moaned out, digging her nails into his back.

"Promise you'll come back home to me." With a final few powerful thrusts, Chase felt her coil twist too tight and it broke all around him.

"I promise!" she cried out, unconsciously drawing her knees back to her ribs as her body convulsed, her heart pounding. He kept moving in and out of her, his fingers lost in her hair, against her scalp, watching her as she came. Her eyes flew open and she looked into his face. "I promise," she gasped again, and Tuck's eyes closed, his brow furrowing as he let out a deep, quiet groan, tilting his face into her chest as he climaxed. She felt herself being flooded with warmth as his seed rushed out inside her, and his length throbbed gently against her tight walls.

He smoothed her hair away from her forehead and kissed her gently. He started to move out of her, but she gripped him with her arms and legs.

"Stay put," she commanded in a whisper. "I don't know when the next time I'll get to hold you like this will be."

"As you wish," he whispered back, and settled against her.

Chase pulled the covers over his back and wrapped her arms around him again, enjoying the feeling of his heavy body lying on top of hers. The weight of him, pressing her into the mattress as they drifted off to sleep, was comforting and soothing and it felt like home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It seemed like only a moment later when that obnoxious sound of the alarm clock on Chase's phone went off.

It was not the migraine-inducing blaring, honking sound that Beelzebub himself _had_ to have created, nor was it the rude interjection of some random Top 40 song bursting to life at a specified time. No, it was a perfectly innocuous, delicate, soft chiming noise that flowed unnoticed into the ear canal and gently prodded the brain to wakefulness.

It was also the noise that reminded Tuck, as if he needed any further reminder beyond the barest brushing of conscious wakefulness _sans_ the assistance of the alarm that today was the day that Chase would be leaving for Paris.

He sighed to himself and rolled over, slipping an arm across her waist and pulling her back against his chest gently. He looked down at her for a moment, and noted that apparently the chiming noise had not quite reached her subconscious yet.

He leaned over and silenced the alarm on her phone and propped himself up on an elbow, continuing to watch her as she rested. He knew he was being a little foolish for being so upset at her leaving, but since they had been together, neither one of them had been on a long-term assignment, especially not one so far away. But it was their job, his and hers, and he understood what came with it as well as she did.

Still, he hated it nonetheless.

He leaned down, inhaling the scent of her hair while he stroked his fingers down the length of her arm, to her hip, and down her thigh. They were both still naked from their interlude the night before and he loved how smooth her skin felt against his, how soft and warm. He tilted his head down and pressed his lips gently to the back of her neck. She made a little noise in the back of her throat and shifted some, but she did not open her eyes.

Tuck stroked a finger over her cheek bone, moving his lips to her ear. He kissed her lobe and breathed softly into her ear canal. His hand moved to the front of her throat where he stroked and squeezed ever so gently. She stirred a little, her eyes still shut, but a little crease came over her brow.

"Chase, sweetheart," he murmured in her ear. "Time to get up, love. You've a hop to catch soon." She grumbled unintelligibly and nuzzled her face into the pillow. "Babe." He kissed the hinge of her jaw and couldn't help his hand from dropping to her breast and squeezing luxuriously. Her hips pressed back against him in almost automatic response, and he chuckled into her skin.

"Chase," he said again, his voice low and rough from sleep. "C'mon, sweetheart." He dropped a kiss onto her shoulder and she grumbled again, a little louder.

"No," she said with all the finality of a child who refuses to get up for school, her voice muffled into the pillow.

"You need to shower and get dressed and eat. Those fellows aren't going to hold the plane for you, my love."

She sighed heavily, then violently flopped onto her back. She turned toward him and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. "I don't want to go anymore."

Tuck smiled, in spite of his sadness, and stroked her hair as he leaned his cheek against her head. "Oh? Right. We'll just ring Collins then and tell her you've decided not to go on the assigned, non-voluntary mission. That she _assigned_ you to. The one that's your job. Shall I grab the mobile for you?" He jumped a little when he felt her teeth nip into his flesh.

"You know what I mean," she mumbled into his chest, her breath warming his skin. "I don't wanna leave you, Tuck."

"I know, love," he said quietly. "I don't want you to leave me, either, but duty calls. You know this." He reached down under the blanket and patted her bottom, loving the way the thick, muscular flesh jiggled and moved under his hand. "Come on. Off you go."

She groaned loudly into his skin again, and Tuck couldn't help another laugh. It never failed to amuse him how much of a morning person she was _not._

"I'll make you breakfast," he added.

"You _always_ make me breakfast," Chase replied contemptuously, still speaking directly into his chest.

He lifted an eyebrow and looked down at her. "That _can_ stop, you know."

"No, no," she said quickly, and he couldn't smother another grin. Food was usually the best motivator for Chase to get her going in the morning. He smacked her bottom again, a little harder this time and she squealed a little. She removed her face from his chest and looked up at him. "You know, _that_ is only going to delay me further." She grinned a little naughtily at him and brought her lips to his throat. "You know I like it when you assert your testosterone."

"I do, you cheeky little girl," he murmured, unable to resist any longer the very great temptation to grow hard against the feeling of her lips and body against him. She felt it and purred, reaching down to take hold of him and stroke along his length. He groaned, out of both his appreciation of the sensation and also frustration. "Chase, love. We don't have time."

"We do," she insisted back, tonguing his pulse. "You're going to join me in the shower."

Tuck thought about protesting again, citing the fact that they had loitered in bed too long once again, that she still needed to get ready and he still needed to make coffee and get some sort of breakfast together, but then he decided that she didn't need to spend a long time on her appearance for an eleven-hour flight on a military cargo plane to Paris, and that he was an above-average skilled driver and knew he could easily navigate the congested Los Angeles freeway traffic to get to the LA Air Force Base, and that microwaved scrambled eggs would have to do this morning.

He followed her to the bathroom and started the shower, as hot as they could both stand, and then he pulled her body against his, sweeping her into the large two-person shower stall. After several moments of heated, passionate kissing, Tuck grabbed her by the waist and turned her, bending her over the shower seat, and thrust inside her, already slick with the moisture from the shower and the kind that only her body could produce.

"Fuck me hard, Tuck," she begged.

There would have been no other way for him to do so at that current moment given his level of arousal coupled with the sight of her shower-wet, upturned ass, so Tuck was only too glad to obey, gripping one of her hips in one hand and her shoulder in the other, mesmerized by the way her voluptuous backside was pressed against him. He reached down and pressed her cheeks apart so he get an even better view of his hard, thick length moving in and out of her forcefully and rapidly.

He watched as Chase's back suddenly bowed in and she began tightening around him like mad, hissing out a curse as her climax consumed her. She moaned sharply and turned to look at him over her shoulder. "I want to taste you," she said. "Let me taste you, Tuck."

He growled in reply, feeling his pelvic area begin to tighten up, signaling his descent into indescribable pleasure. When he felt it upon him, he quickly pulled out of her and fast as lightning, Chase turned around and grabbed his hips, bringing him to her face to finish him off with her mouth.

He leaned his hands against the wall of the shower stall behind her and watched, feeling like his knees could buckle under the weight of his climax bearing down on him. When he reached it, he quickly withdrew from her mouth and cupped her chin gently in one hand. She immediately knew what he wanted and opened her mouth, holding out her tongue while he pumped himself through his climax. As droplets of his essence began to land on and cover her tongue and lips, he grunted and cursed through the waves of his intense orgasm crashing over him and struggled to stay upright. Chase held onto his thighs and watched him with wide eyes, taking everything he had to give her in her mouth. He caught her eye and she winked seductively, then made a show of swallowing his contribution, wiping her lip with a finger, and then slowly inserting the finger in her mouth, sucking it, before pulling it out.

He leaned over her, cupping her face and kissing her lips fervently. "God, please don't leave me," he muttered against her mouth.

She smiled and slapped his hands away gently. "I have to take a real shower now," she said, giving him a quick kiss followed by a push. "Go fetch my breakfast, manservant."

"I believe you just had it," he replied smugly, before quickly slapping her bottom hard and ducking out of the shower before she could grab him.

He had dressed for work, shaved a little and was putting the finishing touches on a hurried breakfast – a bit of scrambled egg, a slice of Canadian bacon and a slice of white cheddar cheese on a whole grain English muffin – when Chase came thundering down the stairs a short time later. Her naturally wavy hair was down and loose, fluffing around her face, and she wore an oversized, boxy cranberry-colored sweater, light gray skinny jeans and tall, flat-heeled cognac-colored boots. She had a charcoal gray pea coat over one arm, along with a wide, brightly printed linen scarf that she had gotten a couple years ago in Ghana, and a pair of black leather gloves. He grabbed his own laptop work satchel and slipped his jacket on, waiting patiently for her to bundle herself up and sling her large tote bag over her arm. She took the insulated tumbler of coffee he handed her and the sandwich he'd made for her with a grateful nod and a kiss before following him as he hustled out the door.

He turned on the radio to their favorite morning show and they listened in quiet as she ate quickly. He wanted to keep things as normal and true to their routine as possible, as though he was just taking her to the airport for a short business trip. Collins knew he was driving her to the Air Force base himself and would be in later that morning.

Chase ate her sandwich in record time and sipped her coffee, her head leaned back on the headrest and her eyes obscured by her mirrored aviators. She didn't say anything, but she slipped her hand into his and squeezed, threading their fingers together.

"You have everything you need, love?" Tuck asked her quietly, desperate to break the silence that was threatening to drive him insane. "Laptop. Files. Phone."

"Yep, everything," she replied, and her voice was a little sad. She smiled. "Picture of you to keep in a frame."

"And by frame you mean, in your locked and password-guarded phone," Tuck said, glancing over at her to be sure. She was undercover; she couldn't have visible personal touches out, even in what was to be her personal space. If it ever got invaded, the enemy would know much too much about her and just how to go about destroying her life if they so chose. Not to mention, Tuck was an agent, too. If the wrong people made the connection between the two of them… _Hell to pay,_ Tuck thought.

Chase pulled her aviators down her nose and looked at him over the top. "Yes, dear. In my phone. I _have _done this once or twice, you know."

Tuck laughed and brought her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers. "Just making sure. Who knows, you might have lost your touch over the past year or so." She spluttered wordlessly in indignation while he chuckled again. "Oh, dear. I fear I have woken the beast."

"Yeah, well," Chase said grumpily. "Hope you and FDR can hold down the fort without me. Not having to do my job on top of the two of yours will be a nice little vacation."

Tuck scoffed. "Yes, darling. Your paperwork skills have not lost their luster. Excellent work on the dossiers."

"Are we back to that again?" Chase demanded as Tuck navigated his truck onto the Air Force base. He and Chase both showed their government IDs and the guard nodded them through. "Because I will have you know that paperwork is actually a _requirement_ of this job, not an option."

Tuck laughed again. "It warms my heart when you get all riled up," he said, driving slowly through the base to where the aircraft she would be taking to Paris was waiting. He glanced over at her and flashed her his perfect, symmetrical wide smile that she loved and was helpless against. "The fire that comes to your eyes is positively glorious, my love."

She was still gazing at his mouth and his perfectly wonderful smile as he spoke. "Yeah, well," she mumbled. "No fair using the smile against me. You know I'm defenseless."

Without taking his eyes off the road, Tuck put a finger under her chin and coaxed her lips over to meet his in a quick kiss. "You're adorable when you're cranky," he said, squeezing her hand soothingly. "And you know I'm just teasing you. You're the smartest operative in the office." He glanced over at her sternly. "Except for when you pull stunts like the other night. Listen to me, Chase – if for no other reason than to preserve my peace of mind and sanity while you're thousands of miles away, please, please, do _not _do anything reckless and rash."

It was Chase's turn to flash him a disarmingly sweet smile. She reached over to pat his cheek. "Tuck," she said, her tone comforting, and his blood slowly began to boil at the sound. "I never _really _do anything rash or reckless, now, do I? I just get the mission done. That's our job, right? Besides, it's Paris. I'm just in a cushy little Embassy job, just gathering intel. Right? That's what I do."

"You never _just_ do anything," Tuck said darkly. "Listen to me, Chase, I –"

"Oh, look!" she interjected smoothly, pointing. "There's my carriage."

An imposingly big C-130J Super Hercules was parked on the runway, the engine on and thrumming, fueled and ready to go. He glanced at his watch, noting that the plane was scheduled to take off in less than ten minutes.

He pulled up as far as he could and then he and Chase both hopped out, pulling her bags from the truck and carrying them toward the aircraft. An airman met them on the tarmac and nodded as Chase flashed her ID again and told him that she was with the CIA.

"Yes, ma'am," the airman yelled over the noise of the engine. "Your partner is here and on board. If you would please board and take your seat, we'll be airborne in no time at all. Sir," he added by way of acknowledgment to Tuck before hurrying off to stow her bags.

Chase turned to Tuck and it hit him like a hammer blow to the head that she was leaving, really and truly leaving, right now. The same seemed to strike her and she reached up, slowly pulling her aviators down her nose. He opened his arms and she fell into them, and he pulled her in close, burying his face in her neck. Her arms wound around his shoulders, and her hands grappled at his upper back as though she were trying to find a way to bring him in even closer.

"Chase," he yelled in her ear over the engine. "Now, bloody _promise_ me that you're going to stay safe. All right? I mean it."

"I promise," she shouted back, her fingers stroking his neck. "I promise, Tuck. I will call you as soon as I land and then when I get settled in my flat. Okay? Tell everyone I miss them, and give Joe lots of hugs and kisses for me when you see him."

"I will," he called back. "Chase, I love you, sweetheart. Call me as soon as you can."

"I will," she replied. "I love you, baby." She touched his cheek and pulled his face down to hers, and kissed him, slow and sweet. She pulled away gently and stroked his cheek again, smiling softly. "Don't worry," she mouthed, then pulled him in again for another kiss. For a moment he gripped her tightly. He just simply didn't want to let her go. It was the sight of the airman appearing at the door of the cargo entrance that shook him.

"I love you," he mouthed, and she nodded and kissed him for a third time, before scooping up her tote and turning to run quickly for the cargo door. She glanced back at him and blew him a kiss, and then she was inside the plane, and the door was closing.

Tuck watched the enormous plane taxi to the end of the runway. He stood rooted to the tarmac as it ascended smoothly, and watched until it disappeared into the sky.

* * *

When the cargo door of the C-130J shut, the emptiness hit Chase like a sledgehammer to the gut.

She normally felt some degree of this feeling every time that she and Tuck had to part ways for work, but normally it was tempered with the knowledge that they would be back together within a couple of weeks, generally. The last time she'd felt this empty, it had been when she had landed in New York after leaving LA for the first time and being told that Tuck was going to Prague for three months. Only this time, it was worse, because now they were an established partnership – best friends, lovers, occasionally enemies, and preparing to spend the rest of their lives together. It was a physical ache deep in her belly, and for a moment, her eyes watered.

_Man up, _she told herself sternly. _You don't cry. This is work. The sooner you get the job done the sooner you can go home._

She headed through the cargo belly of the plane for a row of seats along the wall. She sighed at the sight. The back of the seats were straight up against the wall of the plane and that meant there would be no reclining for the nearly eleven hour flight. But the good news was that it was just her and Benjamin on the flight, and there was a row of seats on each side, so she could stretch out horizontally. The crew kept a few small pillows and scratchy wool blankets on board, and after years of rigorous training and clandestine operative experience that was _no joke _– severe, harsh, hard, unpleasant – she could sleep anywhere.

She headed to her seat, all right for a little while to sit down normally before stretching out, and began rummaging through her bag, wanting to remove all the things she thought she might want before she stowed her tote. She pulled off her coat but left it nearby, knowing that the cargo areas of large planes often got quite chilly. She switched her cell phone to "airplane mode" and removed her ear buds from an interior pocket of her bag. Next, she withdrew her tablet and a novel, as well as a bag of Skittles, a brand new box of white cheddar-flavored snack crackers, and a gigantic bottle of ice-cold water that she had poured from a jug that contained lemons, oranges, and cucumbers. It was fruity without being sweet, light, and refreshing and helped keep her hydrated on long flights. Of course, she would not have been able to have gotten away with bringing it on a commercial flight, but on these business hops, and the fact that she worked for a government agency, allowed things to be a little bit more lax. She finished by pulling out an enormous fashion magazine and all of her case files on the al-Fahsihds and setting them neatly on the steadily growing pile of things in the seat beside her before closing her bag and stowing it.

She glanced across the cargo space to where Benjamin was sitting in his own seat. He had decidedly less "stuff" than she did, opting to bring just a large book and an MP3 player. Currently, he was talking into his cell phone. She could hear his voice murmuring from across the space. She couldn't make out his words but he seemed to be speaking rapidly in an excited, hushed tone.

She narrowed her eyes. Generally the green operative was pretty meek and mild, but right now, this was the most animated she had ever seen him. He was practically leaning into the phone, and his other hand kept coming up toward it, as if he unconsciously wanted to cover his mouth over the phone but kept thinking better of it. Chase popped a handful of crackers in her mouth and chomped down, studying him outright as he finished up his hurried call. He glanced up and seemed startled to see her eyeing him coolly.

"Everything all right?" she called calmly across the space, tossing another handful of crackers in her mouth.

"Uh, yeah," he called back. "That was just my mom. This is my first time leaving the country and she's nervous."

Given Benjamin's age and his overall mannerisms, there was nothing to suggest that he was not being truthful, but Chase had been trained and was paid to know when people were lying. She narrowed her eyes again, not sure why she felt so suspicious all of a sudden. Probably FDR and Tuck just wearing off on her.

"What'd you tell her?" Chase asked. She held up the box she was holding. "Crackers?"

"Uh, no, thank you. I just told her I was going to Europe for work and that I'd call her when I got there to let her know everything was all right. She'll be fine."

"Sure." Chase studied him a moment longer until he seemed to wilt under the heat of her smoky blue-gray eyes and nodded, turning away from her to thumb through his book. She closed up her box of crackers, knowing they would be demolished by the time they arrived in Paris. She knew they would not be fed on this hop.

A few moments later, the crew chief on the plane came through the cargo space, letting them know they were going to be taking off momentarily. He disappeared back toward the front of the plane, and after about five more minutes, Chase felt the plane begin to move. The C-130J Super Hercules was a beast of a plane and had four enormous turboprop engines. The Hercules family to which the C-130J belonged had been used in a variety of military operations for over half a century, and even some civilian and humanitarian missions as well. Despite its size, the power of the four engines and its sleek design helped the plane lift smoothly off the ground and cut into the sky the way a knife goes through softened butter.

She stretched out on her belly and slipped in her ear buds, activating her "Work" playlist, and began playing some classical music. She pulled over her case filed and opened them, getting to work on studying her notes on the al-Fahsihd crime family.

After a moment, she glanced across the space at Benjamin. He had mimicked her movement, stretching out across his row of seats the way she was, except his head was facing the opposite direction. He was skimming through screens on his tablet with rapid fingers swipes, his eyes glued to whatever he was reading.

_Could be anything_, Chase told herself, going back to her notes. _You're paid to be overly suspicious_.

As the C-130J thrummed through the sky, she filed away her suspicions to concentrate on the job. For now, that was all that mattered.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey y'all. Sorry no update for a couple days. But here's one! It might be a little typo-y. I'll fix, I promise. Also I forgot to shoutout the homie allaboutthegray in the last chapter - thanks for helping me past some writer's blockishness! FANKS. To the rest of you, read review and enjoy (RRE - remember dat). **

**Chapter 5**

FDR glanced up as Tuck entered their desk space, and could instantly sense that his best friend's energy was off. He watched quietly as Tuck began unloading his laptop from his bag, plugging it into his dock. He violently stripped off his coat and slung it over the back of his chair before dropping down heavily into it and logging into his computer. His face wore a deep scowl, and when he felt FDR's eyes on him, he glanced over, and frowned harder.

"Yes, mate," he said with mock-politeness. "Something I can do for you?"

FDR smiled warmly at him. "Good morning, Mr. Cranky Pants," he said kindly. "And how are we this fine, fine day?"

Tuck glared witheringly at him. "Bloody amazing. Thanks for asking."

FDR sighed, then crumpled up a sheet of paper and threw it at Tuck. "Cheer up, man," he said, exasperated. "She's going to be fine. She's strong, she's smart, she's –"

"Completely fucking reckless," Tuck filled in, squinting at his screen and clacking away on the keyboard. "I know."

"I don't think you're giving her enough credit," FDR insisted.

Finally Tuck sighed, swiping a hand tiredly over his face. "I know she's smart," he began quietly, "and I know she's strong and tough and capable. But she has a tendency to make decisions in rather a rash manner that sometimes have the ability to get her hurt or killed. And she will make them because she's devoted to this job and to completing the mission. And _that_ is what keeps me up at night."

"I'm sure that's not the _only_ thing keeping you up at night," FDR said smugly. He lifted his hands in the air. "Okay, okay! I jest, my friend, I merely jest." He watched Tuck typing away furiously on his computer for a minute. "What are you doing over there, anyway? I've never seen you put so much work in without a single cup of tea first." His voice lilted to mock Tuck's crisp British accent on the word _tea._

"Something," Tuck murmured, his eyes never leaving the screen, "has been bothering me about little Benjy Baker."

"Like what?" FDR asked, mystified. "He's a _kid_, for Christ's sake."

"Precisely!" Tuck exclaimed. "My entire point. An untrained, inexperienced child."

"No," FDR said, waving his hands in front of his face. "What I mean to say is, he's a _kid_. You're suspicious of some kid who is fresh out of college, in fact, _recruited_ by our illustrious organization who has recognized not only his patriotic interest in serving our country, but his academic achievements and unique skill-set as being valuable to our agency."

"That was moving," Tuck said sarcastically, "but be that as it may, he's a child with no real field experience and his first case is going up against some known global terrorists with a plot to blow up the American Embassy and also assassinate a significant portion of the world's leaders. I'm just not comfortable with that."

"Well, Collins is in her office," FDR said smoothly with a smile. "You could go let her know that."

"And another thing," Tuck went on as if FDR had not spoken at all, "is the way he dropped the ball at the Blarney Stone the other night. Doesn't that irk you in the slightest, mate? When I had my first go in the field, I made sure I was on top of everything, for the simple fact that I was terrified I was going to get killed and also because I didn't want my older, seasoned colleagues looking at me and thinking I was an idiot. I know you were the same way."

"I was," FDR admitted.

"And I'm certain Chase was the same way, if not worse. More than likely worse. But yet…his earpiece goes out and he doesn't think to come ask one of us for help?"

"He might have been nervous about blowing covers," FDR said. "Besides, what can you do about a blown earpiece? He said he was on his way toward the back where we were."

"Something just isn't sitting well with me," Tuck muttered. "It just isn't. For all that what you've just said makes sense in a rational sort of way, and it does, it sounds like what it is – a rationalization."

"And what would be his motive, if he was up to no good?" FDR asked, and Tuck knew the man was making fun of him.

"That I don't know," Tuck admitted. "But you can bet your arse I'm going to find out."

"Tuck, I really don't think there's anything to find out," FDR said gently. "He's _young._ He's _green_. He doesn't know the protocol or exactly what to do at all times – you know as well as I do that a _lot _of that shit is what you learn on the job as you go. And what are you doing?" He pointed. "Are you running background on him?"

"That I am, mate," Tuck replied absently, studying the screen.

"You understand that the agency conducted a very thorough and complete background investigation on him prior to offering him employment," FDR said in that same gentle tone that was really starting to annoy Tuck. "We all underwent similar things. If there was a problem…we wouldn't be here, now, would we?"

"Says here that he got in trouble during his college years for several different hacking offenses," Tuck reported suddenly. "On one occasion, Mr. Baker was found guilty of using his skills to break into one of his teacher's hard drives remotely and locate answers to the final exam, which he then distributed amongst his peers for a fee." He arched his scarred eyebrow at his friend.

"Enterprising young man," FDR said with his trademark charming half-smile. "I actually can't hate on that."

"On another occasion," Tuck went on, "Mr. Baker was found guilty of his cell phone company's database and marking his file as paid through the end of his contract, when in fact he had not paid a dime."

FDR looked impressed. He rubbed his chin. "I wonder if he still knows how to do that."

Tuck shook his head and rolled his eyes. He studied the screen of his computer, scrolling down to the description of the final offense, and his eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Wow. Listen to this. Mr. Baker was accused of hacking into a national bank's database, using several legitimate social security numbers, and gaining access to a number of accounts, both checking and savings. He drained a portion of these accounts and then had the money wired to an anonymous account later on."

"Damn," FDR said. "Okay, that one _is_ a little concerning."

"But it just says 'accused'," Tuck murmured. "It doesn't actually say he was found guilty of it. The money _was _taken, yes, and it was deposited into this anonymous account, but they never found who the account was tied to, nor could they _prove_ that Benjamin actually was the one behind the hacking. They just suspected, because this requires a certain level of hacker skills that your random, every day, bubble-gum hacker possesses. But his stink was all over it."

"What do the notes say?" FDR asked, finally getting out of his chair and crossing the carpeted floor to Tuck's desk. "This _had _to have come up during backgrounds. There's no way. What did the background detective say about it?"

Tuck pointed to the screen. "Just that the offenses he was found guilty of were minor in the grand scheme of things, and since he had never been found guilty of the major offense or tied to it in any way, they couldn't hold that against him. And that his skills as a hacker and technological expert were far more valuable to the agency, which justifies them bringing him here even with the smudge of this accusation."

"Well," FDR said, straightening from where he had been hunched over to look at Tuck's screen. "Definitely looks bad. But it was obviously not damnably bad, since the agency hired him." He frowned down at Tuck. "Look, man. I get that where there's smoke, there's fire. I hear you. For sure. But, also remember then when you go looking for something, you'll find it."

"Exactly," Tuck said emphatically, rising from his seat to perch on the edge of his desk so he and FDR were eye-level. As a rule, he didn't generally ever like looking _up_ at another man. "That's exactly what I'm driving at."

"That's not what I'm saying." FDR shook his head. "What I mean is, because you're _so sure _that Benjy's dirty, you're going to paw through his entire history and the first thing you see that's a little off-color, you'll pounce and try to have him burned at the stake." He gestured to the screen. "That might be potions and spells right there, but it ain't witchcraft." He shrugged. "You want my opinion? I'm gonna give it to you anyway. You miss the hell out of Chase already, you don't know when you're gonna see her again, and you're scared to death that she's gonna do something stupid and get herself killed. Also – you're a man. So even though Benjy is some scrawny twenty-two year old, whose balls are barely the size of marbles, he _does _have a dick, and he and that dick are in Paris with your fiancée, not you." FDR lifted his brows patronizingly. "You're jealous, Tuck."

"Oh, bullocks, mate," Tuck said, scrunching up his face witheringly and waving FDR off. "Piss off. You're so full of shit."

"Methinks thou doth protesteth too much," FDR said in an affected English accent, smirking. "Hey, man, I get it. I really do. Chase is really hot. Not _that_ hot," FDR added quickly at the stormy look on Tuck's face. "But hot enough to be concerning. And like I said, Benjy has the same equipment that you do."

"Not the same," Tuck corrected immediately. "Not hardly the same."

"Technically speaking, of course," FDR amended. "That statement was in no way, shape or form meant to be indicative of actual sizing comparisons. But my point is, you're trying to find something wrong with that kid because you're jealous." He smiled smugly then glanced at his watch. "Whoops, gotta get going. Lauren has a doctor's appointment this afternoon."

"Tell her hello," Tuck said grumpily, irritable over FDR's inaccurate assessment.

"Will do." FDR went around behind his desk to grab his jacket, then returned to Tuck, reaching out to pat his shoulder. "Give this a rest, man. All you'll do is stress yourself out more. All right? When does she arrive in Paris?"

Tuck sighed and glanced at his watch. "About seven our time. Which will be about four in the morning over there."

"Okay. Well, when you talk to her, tell her Lauren and I say hi. I'll talk to you later, man." He gave Tuck a little salute then turned, striding out of the office area.

Tuck stared off after him, his mind whirling. He was considering his friend's word, and in spite of himself, recognized the logic in them. As he dropped back into his desk chair he mulled over FDR's accusation that all of his suspicion about Benjamin was borne out of jealousy. There was nothing to be jealous _over_, Tuck reasoned, although he also knew that FDR had a point regarding penises in close proximity to his fiancée in romantic foreign countries. That was really more of a territorial-man type thing, not actually real jealousy.

No, Tuck decided, there _was _something off about Benjamin. His gut was telling him so, and his gut instincts were what had kept him alive this long in this line of work. He knew he wasn't wrong, but he also knew he had no idea where this feeling was coming from. Benjamin hadn't done anything except be brand new to this job. He hadn't made any mistakes that a rookie wouldn't make, he didn't have any mannerisms a rookie wouldn't have.

_Yet and still…_

Tuck studied the file on Benjamin still pulled up on the screen, tapping his finger thoughtfully on the desk. He had some other resources besides government ones that he could use to see if there was anything else to know about little Benjamin Baker.

"Let's see what you're really up to, lad," he muttered to himself, leaning forward. _And if you are up to something, I _will _find it._

* * *

The C-130J touched down shortly after four in the morning, Paris time.

Chase glanced up from where she was lying face-down on the row of seats, blinking. She was bleary eyed, her hair was a wreck, she was sure of it, and despite the fact that she had forced herself to sleep as much as possible during the ride to overcome as much jet lag as possible, she still felt completely exhausted and out of her mind with sluggishness.

Fortunately, part of the reason that Collins had insisted on sending her and Benjamin so abruptly was that she had built a couple of days into their stay to allow them to work through the jetlag and get acclimated to their surroundings. It was Thursday in Paris, and she and Benjamin would be starting at the Embassy in their respective roles on Monday. Chase was eternally grateful for how the schedule worked out; she would have four days to recuperate from the flight, rest up, and explore her surroundings. She'd been to Paris several times before, but she hadn't been there in a couple of years. She decided that there was a box of croissants, a baguette, a block of delicious cheese and a bottle of white wine somewhere in the city with her name on it. _And an incredible piece of chocolate._

But for now, all she wanted was to dive headlong into a comfortable bed with clean sheets in a dark room for a long, long time.

_And listen to the audio sex that is my fiancé's voice, _she thought to herself. She reached for her phone and activated the text message application, thankful she had arranged for an international texting and calling plan, and sent Tuck a quick message.

_Just landed. On the way to the flat, will call when I get there. Xoxo_

A moment later, she received his reply. _Glad you made it safe baby. Talk soon. x_

With a sigh, she pushed herself upright and began gathering up her things. She pulled her bag out from where she had stowed it and began to load in her magazine, her files, her book, her tablet, and her water bottle. The snacks, as she had predicted, she had consumed before the flight was even halfway over. Luckily the airmen had plenty of MREs to offer her and Benjamin. She had accepted hers gratefully around the eighth hour of the flight. Benjamin seemed confused as to how to prepare his hot meal in his MRE kit; she had noticed him eyeing her as she activated the heating chemical packet to warm hers. Even then, he had still not been able to figure it out, so she had gotten out of her seat, crossed the deck, and silently done it for him. He had smiled up at her gratefully, to which she had nodded and returned to her seat.

As she had slowly consumed her hot meal and moodily spread the jalapeno cheddar cheese sauce squeezed from a pouch over her crackers, she studied Benjamin. He had gone back to his reading while he ate his meal. They had not exchanged more than a dozen words between them on the flight. Chase wasn't sure how normal that was. While she didn't necessarily need to talk to anyone about anything, she expected Benjamin to pepper her with questions regarding how the mission was to unfold, how to conduct himself, what sort of intel they were looking to gather, who to look out for, who their contact in Paris would be, etc. But he hadn't asked a single question.

_Doesn't mean he won't_, Chase had reasoned, finishing the last of her beef-and-noodle meal.

But he hadn't, for the rest of the duration of their flight. He had still kept to himself, reading or napping. Chase had done the same.

Now, as she hauled herself off her seat and shouldered her bag, she glanced over at her partner. He looked like a very young teenage boy at the moment, rubbing his green eyes tiredly with the heel of his hand, his light, gingery colored hair mussed. Chase waited for the airmen to pop the hatch on the cargo door of the plane to let them out, and then reached out to shake hands with the crew that had come back to help them off the plane.

"Good luck," one of the crew said to her with a nod. "Enjoy your stay in Paris. Adams down there has your bag. There's a taxi service waiting for you and your partner."

"Thanks again," Chase said with a nod. "Really appreciate it."

She and Benjamin deplaned and then gathered their suitcases. The driver of the taxi hopped out to help them load everything up. Chase noted, and was not surprised to see, that she had significantly more luggage than her partner.

"Where are you staying?" Benjamin asked her finally.

"I've got a flat in Place Pigalle, in the theater district," Chase replied. "What about you?"

"Montmartre."

Chase already knew that; she wanted to see if Benjamin would be forthcoming about it with her. He had absolutely no reason in the world to lie to her, but based on the nagging suspicion about him in her gut, she wouldn't have been entirely surprised if he had chosen to lie to her.

_Then again,_ she reasoned, _he could have anticipated that you would have known that, and realized he _couldn't _lie about it._ Then she thought about what she had just thought about, and shook her head. _I'm really awful._

"Well, let's get going," she said. "I'm exhausted. I think Montmartre is closer to here, so we can drop you off first."

"No, no," Benjamin said, shaking his head and waving his hand. "No, ladies first."

"What?" Chase exclaimed off of reflex. Chivalry was about the last thing in the world she expected from Benjamin. Not for any particular reason, she realized, as Benjamin had always been courteous and polite. _You're a bitch_, she chastised herself. _He's a good kid._ "I mean, thanks. That's nice of you."

"I got a mom," Benjamin said with a shrug and a little grin. "She taught me some manners."

"Well – thanks," Chase repeated. "I appreciate it."

"Probably want to get in to call your fiancé and everything," Benjamin added, and Chase looked at him sharply. "I bet you guys really miss each other, you and Tuck."

"Yeah, well," Chase said lightly, not wanting to get into her personal life with Benjamin. "Comes with the job." She wasn't sure why she suddenly felt so cagey now, but she instinctively did not like him making those comments. _There you go again_, she thought to herself on the tail end of those thoughts.

The ride to her flat on Rue de Parme in Place Pigalle was long, and Tuck texted her during the ride to see how she was coming along. He was anxious to hear her voice, he said. She texted him back to let him know she was almost there.

She forgot how much luggage she had, realizing there was no way that she could manage it all herself. The taxi driver and Benjamin both helped her lug it all up to her flat. Benjamin had offered to put it in her bedroom for her, but Chase had politely told him the foyer was more than enough. She wouldn't have him breaking his back any more than he already had, she joked, while internally she felt like it would have been an invasion of privacy for him to enter bedroom. She was not altogether okay with the fact that he now knew the precise location of her flat. Again, the thought made her pause. She felt her frustration with herself growing – _what _was her problem?

"You go on and get settled," Chase said to Benjamin as she handed the taxi driver some money to cover most of the fare and a tip. "Take the next couple days to rest and get acclimated to the area. We'll touch base over the weekend to go over Monday."

She figured she would need to put it out there, as it didn't seem that Benjamin would. Perhaps he hadn't _known_ or thought to ask her to meet up. But she needed to make sure, if for no other reason than to reassure herself that all the bases were covered, T's crossed and I's dotted where this mission was concerned. She and Benjamin wouldn't even be working in the same building, and that made her nervous. She wouldn't be able to keep an eye on him and make sure he was doing the job correctly.

_Control freak,_ she instantly heard Tuck say in her head, and she smothered a wry grin.

"Oh, um, okay," Benjamin was saying, and Chase snapped back to the present. "Okay. So you – you'll call me or something?"

"Yes," Chase said. She gave him a brief half-smile. "Now get out my flat so I can get some sleep."

"Yeah, sure," he said eagerly. "Sure. Um – goodnight Chase. Talk to you later."

She shut and locked all of the locks on the door after he left, then looked at the mound of luggage in the foyer and sighed. To hell with it for now.

She looked around, pleased at the lovely little flat. The wood floors were shiny and slippery-clean. The kitchen was small but the place had recently been renovated with fresh paint and new appliances, so there was a nice range, a refrigerator and some counter space. It would never do for two or more people, but for one, it was just fine.

She turned the corner to a short little hallway. The door on the left opened to a spacious bathroom with a big tub, clean and modern. The door at the end of the hall was a roomy storage closet and had been stocked, thoughtfully, with stacks of fluffy towels and other supplies. The door on the right opened to the bedroom. There was a queen-size bed sitting atop a large rug with clean bedding and several fluffy down pillows. In the corner was a little table with two chairs, and her landlord had thoughtfully placed an unopened bottle of wine, a wine glass, a note, and a red rose in a vase to welcome her. She toyed with the rose, smiling.

The flat was small, cozy, and clean. _Tuck would like this._

That reminded her. She yawned widely and pulled her phone out of her pocket and tossed it on the bed. She closed and locked her bedroom door after retrieving her Glock from one of her bags and stowing it, along with an extra mag, under her pillow. She stripped out of her clothes down to her underwear, then pulled back the covers and toppled into the bed. For a moment, she lay on her face, enjoying the cool freshness of the sheets, the sweet scent of lavender coming from the pillows, and the fact that she was no longer on a row of uncomfortable cargo plane seats.

She knew she would fall asleep just like this, and she knew she couldn't until she called Tuck. She yawned deeply again as she pulled up his number on her phone and hit the send button. He answered on the second ring.

"Sweetheart," came his voice, and it was so warm and sweet that for a moment Chase got a terrible rush of homesickness. _You're here to do a job,_ she reminded herself sternly. _Man up._

"Hi, baby," she said. "I'm at my flat now."

"Good. Made it there okay?"

"Yep, just fine."

"Where's Benjy staying?" Tuck asked, and Chase didn't miss the way his voice got sarcastic when he said her partner's name.

"His place is in Montmartre. He helped me with my bags."

"He came upstairs?" Tuck asked sharply. "I don't think I like that."

"He just put my bags in the foyer," Chase said gently. She decided not to mention that she hadn't been particularly wild about it either. In fact, until she pinpointed the reason for this inherent mistrust of her partner who had done nothing to deserve said mistrust, she thought it was best not to mention that at all. "Then he left."

"Well, all right," Tuck muttered grudgingly. "You're in bed now?"

"Yes."

"Lock all the windows and doors?"

"Yes."

"Gun under your pillow?"

"_Yes."_

Tuck laughed. "That's my girl. You sound horribly tired. I was just testing you. Oh, and before I forget, Lauren and FDR say hello."

"Hello," Chase mumbled back.

His voice changed a little, going huskier. "D'you miss me yet, love?"

"Mm," Chase replied sleepily. "I missed you this morning before I left you, baby."

"Me too," Tuck said. "Listen, I can hear how tired you are, sweetheart. Get some rest and call me when you're up."

"You call _me_ when you're up," Chase said. "It'll be afternoon here and then I won't disturb your rest. We'll talk on your way into work. I'm sorry, babe. I'm just so exhausted."

"No, no, it's all right," Tuck said gently. "I know you're tired. I just needed to know you made it in okay. Get some sleep, yeah? I'll call you when I wake up in the morning, then."

"Okay," Chase replied, fighting hard to stay awake. "I love you, babe."

"Love you too, sweetheart. Good night."

She hung up with Tuck and did not bother with plugging in her phone to charge as she slept; instead, she stared dully out the window as her eyes grew heavy. There was always that horribly strange "I'm-not-home" feeling she got whenever she traveled, but it would pass. It always did. It surged through her now.

And mixed in, she felt pangs of unease.

_Just shut up and go to sleep_, she said to herself tiredly. _Things will be different after some decent rest._

She was asleep before the thought even finished in her mind.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Wanted to leave you with a little something for the weekend! Shoutout to the homie Nik216. For those of you who read both our stories - see if you can identify a tiny little link between them. Not gonna say which one - if you're a fan you should catch it with no trouble! :-) Also I need to shoutout my girl CTinaIsFashion - she helped quite a bit with plot suggestions and helped me work out some crazy jumbled thoughts I was having. She might be my biggest Chase and Tuck fan to date! Ok. Here we go. RRE (remembuh?)**

**Chapter 6**

Chase couldn't let herself sleep as late as she wanted, as late as she felt she _needed_, if she had any hope of setting her internal clock to Parisian time, so she reluctantly forced herself awake at nine later that morning.

For a moment she simply lay on her back, staring fuzzily up at the ceiling. Her head was full of that horrible, thick, groggy feeling that came from too little rest, but she realized she had hardly moved during the night and she couldn't recall waking up at any point as she was sometimes prone to do, especially in a new setting. She had fallen onto her face and stayed there, sleeping like a log, for the entire night.

The mattress of her bed was somehow firm and soft all at the same time; it was hard and dense enough to provide support for her back but covered in some sort of buttery soft mattress pad and sheets that _had _to have had an absurdly high thread count. It was chilly, but underneath the warmth of her covers, she was snug and wonderfully comfortable.

She glanced outside as some of the fog in her head began to dissipate. It was a typical late-winter day in the city. The sky was gray and there was leftover snow on the ground and the trees, although some of it had started to melt under the just-above freezing temperatures. A very light, misty rain was falling, and Chase hoped it wouldn't ice over. She wanted to go for a short run to attempt to rejuvenate herself.

But lying here in this delightfully warm, obscenely comfortable bed, gazing outside to a misty day, made her want to do nothing more than lie right where she was for the duration of the rest of the day and night. _Maybe crack open that bottle of wine_, she mused, eyeing it on the little table across the room. _Fresh baguette. Nice block of nutty Parmesan cheese. Fruit and chocolate for dessert…_

She was making herself hungry, and then she realized that except for the wine, there was nothing to drink – or eat, for that matter – in the little flat, so she would _have _to get out of bed at some point if she wanted to feed herself.

She allowed herself a few more moments to lie there, then with a groan of reluctance coupled with an urge to use the bathroom, she hauled herself out of the bed and padded across the chilly wooden floor. She was freezing, so she wrenched the door open and scurried through the flat in just her panties to her bags still in the foyer. She grabbed one and unzipped it, grabbing her toiletry bag, a pair of sweatpants, and an oversized sweatshirt and yanking them on. She fished out her slippers and jammed her feet into them, then set about locating the thermostat in the small place. When she found it, she cranked the heat a little higher than its current conservative setting, and padded into the bathroom.

She washed her hands at the sink and then prepped her toothbrush, popping it into her mouth and scrubbing away while she popped open the medicine cabinet. It was bare except for an old rubber ducky on the shelf, which she looked at it in confusion, her head tilting as she brushed away. She reached out to grab it, examining it. She flipped it over and saw that there was something scrawled in black pen on the bottom: "To my Annie. Think of me while you bathe. Love always, E. 2007"

Chase had no idea who either "Annie" or "E" could be, but there was something interesting about the fact that she'd found something so personal, and that it had been there for the past six years. She carefully replaced the duck on the shelf and shut the door.

She finished brushing her teeth and went back to the foyer, deciding that if she didn't move her bags now, the likelihood was that they would remain where they were for weeks due to her penchant for laziness. She began hauling them back to her bedroom, and arranged them neatly on the floor. It was one thing to move them into her bedroom on an empty stomach and no caffeine; it was altogether entirely different to expect herself to unpack as well.

She knelt on the floor and unzipped her suitcases, then finally found her workout attire and her running shoes. She zipped herself into a light running jacket and then grabbed her keys. She hustled down the stairs of the building and burst outside into the crisp morning. The sidewalk just in front of the building was a hard stone pavement, transitioning into regular cement. The little street was crowded with vehicles and shops and businesses, so she knew she'd have to navigate relatively slowly and take care to watch out for leftover small patches of ice on the ground. She started down the street slowly, noting the different people she saw milling about on the street. She gained a few odd looks, and realized that it was probably due to the scarcity of seeing people actually jog within the neighborhood. Typically in Paris, it was far more common to see runners lapping around parks and gardens, and not so much in business or residential areas.

_'__Merica_, Chase thought smugly, stifling a laugh as she moved on. _I does what I wants. _

She was wearing her GPS watch so she would know how far she ran, and she was curious about the Pigalle neighborhood. Historically, it served as a major red light district in Paris – during World War II, the troops had named it "Pig Alley" as a nod toward the brothels, the night clubs, the bars, and the generally sleazy back-alley shenanigans one would expect to find in such a place. As of late, it had become something of a theater district, a historical place that the local Parisian hipsters had adopted and slowly but surely remodeled to take out more sleaze and put in more style. She ran past countless restaurants, boutiques, cafés. There was even an open-air market that she made note of to return to after she finished her run.

After a breezy three miles, Chase returned to her flat, now hungrier than ever. As a rule, she generally did not run without fueling first, but three miles was a short distance, less than half an hour's worth of activity, so there was no need for her to really fuel for that. But with _that _out of the way, she could enjoy what was to surely be one of her only few days of real leisure while in the city undercover on assignment. She hurried up the stairs and took a very quick shower – quick by her standards – and then let her waves air dry while she dressed and put on a tiny bit of makeup. She decided on black leggings under a thick knit charcoal-gray sweater. She added a scarf, threw her mostly-dry waves into a messy bun, and put on her leather gloves. The sweater was warm enough that she didn't need a coat, and she wore a black long-sleeve thermal underneath to further trap in her body warmth. She fished a small cross-body purse out of her suitcase, perfect for these sorts of excursions. Paris wasn't short on crime or pickpockets, and in fact, on one of her very first assignments which happened to be in Paris, she had had all of her money stolen after a couple hours spent at an outdoor flea market because she hadn't been careful. Keeping her money in a small purse that she could keep near at hand would ensure that she would actually have some left at the end of the day.

_If I don't spend it all on food first, _she thought as her stomach growled loudly.

She looped the handle of an umbrella over her arm and headed back outside. The mist had stopped while she was running, but the sky was still cloudy and the air was still moist, so there was a chance it could start up again. Paris seemed to be fond of quick torrential downpours without warning, so she wanted to be prepared. There was little else she could think of that was more miserable than mucking around the streets in a heavy, sodden sweater, simply because she didn't plan properly.

She popped into the first café she saw which, coincidentally, happened to be one door down from her building. She wanted to fuel up first before heading to the market so she wouldn't be tempted to buy every last foodstuff she laid eyes on. Parisians were fond of buying their food as fresh as possible, so therefore daily trips to the market were far from uncommon. While loading up on fruits, veggies and bread was sensible, loading up on scores of the pastries, desserts and other delicacies she really wanted was not.

She ordered a café au lait and a croissant, and took a seat at the back of the café to eat. The café au lait was rich with freshly ground espresso and thick with steamed milk. She added a little bit of sugar and sipped happily, her eyes closing in contentment. Paris agreed with her spirit; even under working circumstances, she was happy to be back.

As she ripped off the corner of the thick crescent moon-shaped, buttery, flaky croissant and chewed, she mulled over the fact that she and Tuck had not organized any kind of honeymoon outing. When this case was wrapped and while he was between cases, she mused, they would need to go somewhere for a week and take a load off. She wondered if he would be interested in coming here. She'd love to experience Paris in the springtime again. But Tuck was drawn more to the tropical climates, warm, sandy beaches and rolling ocean waves when it came to taking a vacation. She pondered that as well, imagining snorkeling, scuba diving, laying out on the beach with fruity drinks at hand, delicious seafood dinners, and making love to him on the soft sand under the moonlight; perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad thing, after all. She wondered what he was up to at the moment. She glanced at her watch, noting that it was just after ten-thirty. Given the fact that it was one-thirty in the morning in LA – _he'd better be sleeping._

With her late breakfast consumed, Chase finished off the last of her latte and dusted crumbs off her sweater. She pushed out of the café and back onto the street, feeling a measure of satisfaction and calm now that she'd eaten something and had caffeinated herself. She still felt a bit groggy from the trip, but she knew that by Monday she'd be on Paris time.

She strolled over the pavement languidly, enjoying the crisp air. Having grown up and lived in New York for most of her life, she was accustomed to winter – _real_ winter, not the Californian definition of winter. As a result, she generally despised the season although she welcomed it between Thanksgiving and Christmas. After New Year's, however, she was more than ready for the season to die and it was recalling those times in New York that made her appreciate living in California even more, even though things didn't look particularly festive around the latter part of the year. But late winter, the January-February timeframe, was the time of the year she had always hated the most, due to the miserable winter conditions – the snow, the slush, and the unpleasant temperatures.

Being in Paris, however, made it just a hair more tolerable than anywhere else.

She located the outdoor market that she'd seen before and reached into her small cross-body purse to pull out the tightly folded tote bag she'd crammed in there. Her money was zipped into an interior pocket, and she'd added the tote bag for the dual purposes of filling out the purse and adding some weight so it didn't flop around irritatingly on her hip, and also because she knew she would be doing some serious shopping at this market and didn't want to have to try to either balance everything she bought in her arms, or go home without everything she wanted.

_And how I want,_ she thought rapturously, eyeing a bread stand eagerly. She marched over and selected two French baguettes, a small bag of freshly baked croissants, and some sort of sweet and buttery round loaf. She moved on to a produce stand and bought a wide variety of vegetables, thinking she might make a lovely bruschetta to go with her baguette and some marinara sauce for spaghetti.

_Which means I need cheese_. Her favorite thing in the world. She spotted the vendor selling cheese and practically skipped over to him. She began jabbering at him in rapid French, requesting a wheel of this and a brick of that. She was fond of the milder cheeses, buttery and smooth like Gouda and Havarti, nutty like Parmesan, fruit complements like brie and mascarpone. He was dazed by the time she was through, and she gave him a little extra money with her bill as a token of her appreciation for his patience.

Next, she bought a large variety of fruits, the sight of which made her mouth water. She bought oranges, strawberries, bananas, and raspberries. The oranges were tempting enough to have her contemplating tearing one open and devouring it. She was making her way toward a stand selling a variety of different kinds of desserts when a tall figure out of the corner of her eye randomly caught her attention.

As she neared the case, she glanced over and immediately took note of a tall man, who appeared to be in his late twenties. She judged him to be of Middle Eastern descent, based on his skin coloring, his thick, bushy black eyebrows and his extremely dark eyes. He was rather handsome, in fact, and impeccably dressed. He looked as though he slept in money. There was something vaguely familiar about him.

He was also staring at her intently.

_Al-Fahsihd._

She was sure of it – this wealthy young man was a part of the crime family. She knew she had seen his face before among her case files – but she could not recall precisely who he was. She was sure he was the son – or maybe he was the nephew. _Think, dammit_, she thought, squeezing the bridge of her nose. _Ahmed the son, or Jamal the nephew?_ Something came to her instantly, and it took all of her self-control not to snap her fingers at the revelation. _His ear. Look at his ear._

According to her notes, Ahmed al-Fahsihd, son of Mohammed al-Fahsihd, was the second-in-command in his father's crime organization, and had a disfigurement to the top portion of his left ear from an injury that he had sustained in a knife fight four years ago. She couldn't see his left ear from this angle, so she would have to move.

Chase carefully averted her gaze and went back to studying the selection of desserts before her, absently telling the vendor which éclairs, strawberry savarins, and apple tarts particularly caught her eye. She kept the young man in her peripheral vision, and noted that he had stepped closer to her. She frowned reflexively, and the vendor noticed and asked her if she was displeased with any of her selections. She quickly reassured him that they were fine, and paid him and took her purchases.

She turned slowly in the direction of the man. He happened to be in the path she intended to take to get to her last stop, a wine stand. Her internal alarms began to jangle a little; at first, she thought that perhaps she had merely caught his eye and he was checking her out. But he was _still_ staring at her, and in a cool, measuring way that made her uneasy – almost as if he knew her. She kept her external appearance calm, ignoring him completely, and walked toward the wine stand. As she passed him, she glanced over at him. He was still studying her and she averted her gaze quickly again, but not before she noticed his left ear – it looked like the top portion of the shell of his ear had been lopped off, the skin healing in an uneven, puckered sort of way that gave his ear the appearance of being folded over.

_Ahmed al-Fahsihd. As I live and breathe._ What _are you doing here?_

She calmly went to the wine stand and selected a bottle of semi-dry French red, and a bottle of a fruitier, more robust red wine. She paid for her purchases and arranged them in her tote, and turned to leave. Ahmed had stood rooted in place, letting the crowd trickle around him as he continued to stare at her. Though she understood that this man obviously recognized her somehow, which created the feelings of unease, she also began to get a little angry. If someone was going to stare at her for this long, they had damned well better say something.

Between her alarm bells going off now in her mind at a full-blown sound-off, and the fact that it was clear that Ahmed knew, at least a little, who she was, Chase decided it was time to go. She wanted to get home for the dual purpose of studying her notes on the family and also getting the hell away from him. She felt herself growing increasingly more agitated – she almost would have welcomed an open confrontation rather than Ahmed simply watching her in that cool detached manner that he was employing right now. She couldn't confirm whether he did in fact recognize her, or if this was some strange way he had of hitting on a woman, but she did know that she couldn't let on that she had taken even little more than a perfunctory notice of him.

Regardless of what his intentions were, Chase knew she was in danger.

She shouldered her bag a little more firmly and began to stroll at an easy pace toward the entrance of the market. She would stop every few stands or so to look at items, and would quickly glance around as if in an absent manner. She took note of the fact that he now seemed to be following her.

_Steady, girl._

Chase continued toward the entrance in this same casual way, not wanting to alert him to the fact that she was aware that he was now following her. She made a show of stopping at several booths, even going so far as to buy a few items here and there – a bunch of freshly cut flowers here, a hand woven blanket there. A collar for her currently nonexistent cat, a knockoff pair of designer heels.

Gradually, she reached the entrance to the market and turned the corner, picking up her pace just slightly. Her flat was three blocks away. She strolled to the corner of the street and noticed that he came out after her. She gritted her teeth, and then lifted her hand, hailing the first taxi that she saw. She directed him toward her flat, but told him to turn what should have been a two-minute ride into a ten-minute one.

"Take me on the scenic route of Pigalle," she ordered him in French.

The cabbie looked at her like she was insane, but he took off in the opposite direction of her flat, and Chase ducked down in the seat and turned to peer over it. Ahmed was standing at the corner of the street still, watching the taxi take off with his hands languidly on his hips.

Chase turned back around in her seat and suddenly realized she was breathing hard, her pulse hammering in her veins. _That was close,_ she thought. What "that" was, she had no idea – but she knew that the man didn't mean her any goodwill.

Chase leaned forward. "Cancel the scenic tour," she said in French. "Just go around the edges of the neighborhood and take me back to my flat now, please."

She suddenly had the urge to get in and lock up as tight as possible, with her Glock on her hip.

* * *

Later that day, she was sitting on the sofa in the living room, her case files spread out on the coffee table before her and a glass of wine in one hand. She normally did not imbibe so early in the day, but she felt she needed it to help steady her nerves a little.

She had arrived back at her flat and before exiting the cab, had taken a good, long look around the streets before she felt it was safe for her to get out. She hurriedly gave the cabbie some money, then grabbed her groceries and hopped out of the vehicle quickly, all but running across the street to the door of her flat. She used her keys to open the exterior door, then took the stairs up to her flat, two at a time, balancing her tote bag stuffed full of groceries. She had barreled into her flat and shut and locked her door, then latched the security chain, and made a mental note to speak to the landlord about putting on an extra lock. _Or ten._

She had set her bag of groceries down, and then gone straight to her bedroom for her Glock. She double-checked to make sure it was loaded, then performed a thorough sweep of the tiny flat, ensuring that there was no other living soul except herself inside. She had shut the blinds and the curtains, and then paced like a caged animal in a zoo for twenty minutes, just thinking.

Eventually she had calmed down enough to fetch her Glock holster from her suitcase and attach it to her hip, and then slide her Glock into it. She wished for a third arm and hand, created solely to hold a gun at all times. She had slowly put away her groceries, and then poured herself a glass of the semi-dry red wine and fixed herself a snack of bread, cheese, and fruit, before carrying it all into the living room to go over her notes.

She felt she had every reason to be as worked up as she was. The al-Fahsihds, aside from their current nefarious plan, were notorious in France for many other offenses. They were involved in gambling, prostitution, and underage sex trafficking. There were scores of murders that had been pinned to several members of the family, but due to the judicial system's corruption in some areas, had not been found formally guilty of anything. Ahmed al-Fahsihd was nicknamed "Trigger Man" in the city, as he had gotten a rep for pulling the trigger first and asking questions later. The man committed murder as easily as brushing lint off his clothes – if he wanted something and someone was in the way of it, someone ceased to exist and Ahmed got what he wanted. His cousin Jamal was almost as bad; Jamal was particularly fond of kidnapping and torture.

Father Mohammed was worst of all. He never sullied his own two hands with his deeds; he ordered his son, his nephew, and the other members of his family to carry out the most awful, heinous deeds against human beings even the most imaginative mind would have trouble conjuring. Ahmed and Jamal weren't exactly smart or creative – they simply did as they were told. And Pops Mohammed was the one ordering them around.

By the city of Paris's count, and Chase's notes, at least four hundred thirty-seven girls aged seventeen and under, some as young as eight, had gone missing in and around the city in the past three years. They had been abducted off the street and never heard from again. Their families believed they were dead, but more than likely they were probably in Thailand, in Vietnam, in Cambodia, sold into sex slavery.

It boiled Chase's blood, but there was nothing that she or any US law enforcement agency could do about it. It had happened on foreign soil involving foreigners – out of their scope. However, when the plan had been developed to bomb the US Embassy and assassinate the US president, _then_ they could step in.

Chase was almost grateful that they had decided to move forward with that particular plan – it seemed to be the only way she was going to be able to help get these pieces of shit off the street, and help save scores more lives.

But somehow, Ahmed seemed to know who she was, or at least had some good idea that he did. But how? She had been in Paris for less than twenty-four hours. How could this criminal have any idea who she was, when she hadn't even begun to go after him yet?

She surmised that the same person who was feeding Toussaint information about the Embassy and US secrets was the same person who might be feeding the al-Fahsihds information about her. But then – if they knew about her, they had to know about Benjamin. Her gut churned – perhaps the mission was thrown before they even got there. She didn't know what Benjamin had planned for the day – but she needed to warn him to be careful. She reached for her phone, intending to call him and explain what happened. But her hand stopped short just before she grabbed her phone.

She couldn't exactly put it into a conscious, succinct form of thought, but her mind thought about Benjamin, and all of her strange feelings about him, and it thought back to the events that had just happened today, and somehow, both sets of thoughts seemed to fit together. She didn't know how or why or understand, but suddenly she felt that to warn Benjamin would be to play her entire hand before him, and put herself even further in danger. And she wouldn't do that.

She leaned back on the couch, sipping her wine. A sip turned into three sips, and suddenly she was draining the glass and getting up for more. It was rare in her line of work that she ever felt like she was at a complete loss, but this was one of those times. The last time she remembered feeling this way, it had been on her first case in LA against the Kozlov crime family, when Vladimir Andrei had made her outside a Starbucks. He had been studying her in a similar fashion as Ahmed had, but he had also called her by name. And Ahmed hadn't said a word. Maybe he wasn't sure.

Either way, back on the Kozlov case, Chase hadn't said anything about getting made for a couple days, and it was only due to FDR and Tuck covering for her that she'd been able to stay on the case. Protocol was, if an operative got made while undercover – the mission was blown and they were off the case, period. And Chase hadn't been able to bear the thought of watching months of hard work go down the drain on a humbug, so she had covered it up.

Is that what she was doing now? she wondered. Should she call Collins and tell her?

_Chill_, a cool voice in her brain said. _Ahmed didn't ID you. He didn't say anything to you. No need to jump the gun. But you don't tell Benjy. You don't tell Collins. And you damn sure don't tell Tuck. _

She took another large mouthful of wine, bringing her fingertips to her temple and pressing against the building throbbing of the onset of a headache.

_Welcome to Paris,_ she thought sarcastically.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey guys! Hope you all had a good weekend. Glad to see so many of you got the tribute to Nik216's story :-D Here's the next installment...and um, all I can say is that I was overcome with inspiration for the latter part of the story XD Hope you enjoy and don't judge me. RRE! Besos.**

**Chapter 7**

"Now, just to forewarn you," FDR said over his shoulder to Tuck as he pulled his Audi S5 Cabriolet up to his Nana's sprawling country home. "Nana doesn't know that Chase left. She's probably going to be pissed at you because she was expecting to see her."

"You could have let her know," Lauren said dryly from the passenger seat, her hand resting lightly on her belly. "Being that she just called you last night to confirm, and all."

"I didn't feel it was my story to tell," FDR said lightly, smiling smugly.

"Thanks, mate," Tuck said sarcastically. "Really appreciate you once again throwing me under the bus."

"Hey," FDR said defensively. "You don't know what it's like – pregnant Lauren _and _pissed-off Nana? You don't know what I go through. You haven't seen the things I've seen."

"I'm sitting _right here_," Lauren said indignantly. "For crying out loud."

"All right, all right," Tuck interjected, waving a hand in annoyance as he reached for his seatbelt. "She still has Joe, so she can't kill me in front him, at least."

"Just don't go down to the wine cellar with her," FDR said ominously. "For the love of God, man, promise me you won't go down to the wine cellar."

"Oh, shut up," Lauren said, smacking him lightly on his shoulder. "Tuck, we've got your back. It'll be – it'll be fine." But her voice wavered just a little at the end, and Tuck knew that it would not really be fine.

They walked up the winding path toward the front door, and before FDR could raise his fist to knock, the door flung open and there stood Nana with Joe at her side. Her eyes sparkled at them as she ushered them inside.

"Come in, come in!" she exclaimed, as Joe launched himself into his father's arms.

"Dad!" the boy exclaimed, and Tuck hoisted him into the air.

"Hey, Joe!" he said, ruffling his son's hair affectionately and hugging him tightly. "Did you have fun out here with Nana all weekend? Were you a good lad?"

"Naturally," Joe said. Tuck grinned.

"He was a very good boy, as always," Nana said, folding her arms and beginning to fix Tuck with a hard stare. "We played outside all weekend long, we rode horses, we played with the dogs. We watched movies and ate lots of snacks and even got our homework completed."

"That's wonderful," Tuck replied, beginning to feel the need to fidget under Nana's piercing stare. "I'm glad to hear it."

"What I am confused about," Nana went on smoothly, "is why there are only three of you adults when I was expecting four." She cocked an eyebrow at her grandson, who raised his hands into the air. "Per your information, no less." She shifted her steely gaze back to Tuck. "Just where is my granddaughter-in-law-to-be?"

"Well," Tuck said. "About that."

"Yes, about that," Nana said.

"Chase had to leave the country very suddenly for work," Tuck confessed. "She had very little time to contact anyone or prepare, so, apologies for her absence, Nana."

"The fashion world keeps her mighty busy, eh?" Nana asked, but her eyes twinkled in such a way that made Tuck wonder if she didn't really know what the three of them actually did for a living.

"Er, that's right," Tuck said lamely.

"Well, let's everyone head out into the backyard," Nana said. "Gramps has the grill going. Table is set. Joe even helped me do that."

"Good job, son," Tuck said, ruffling Joe's hair again.

"Franklin, take your lovely bride outside and get her seated," Nana said. "She's got some precious cargo on board so we need to make sure she's comfy. Joe, why don't you go boss Gramps around a little more and tell him to hurry up with the meat. Tuck, you can help me carry out the drinks."

Tuck followed Nana into the kitchen and waited patiently as she removed a large pitcher of lemonade and a large pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator. It was common knowledge that Nana's lemonade and her iced tea were the best around, and she guarded the recipes like treasure. "You'll get them when I'm dead and buried," she liked to joke.

"Hand me that tray, please, dear," Nana said, pointing. Tuck fetched the tray from the cupboard she was pointing at as Nana removed tall glasses from the cupboard. "You'll give my love to Chase when you speak to her?"

"Of course," Tuck replied, placing the tray on the large marble island. "Her schedule is a bit opposite mine at the moment, but we manage a half-hour or so in the morning and sometimes in the evening."

"Where is she?" Nana asked.

_Shit._ "She's – a bit of everywhere," Tuck said, hoping to play it off. "Western Europe, so Germany, France, Italy. England." He hated lying, especially to Nana, but he had no other choice.

Nana studied him with that same piercing stare and he felt, not for the first time, that Nana knew quite a bit more than she let on. "Well. What a busy girl, indeed. I'm sure you miss her."

Now there was something he could be honest about. "I do," he said. "I do miss her. Terribly."

"It doesn't seem to me that a marriage with both spouses traveling so much is particularly beneficial," Nana said. "Do you?"

"We both love our jobs," Tuck said. "And I believe we are both dedicated and committed enough to each other to make it work no matter what."

"I suppose that the old saying is true – 'absence makes the heart grow fonder'," Nana said. She reached out to pat his cheek. "I just want to make sure my boy is taken care of. You deserve to be happy, Tucker. You deserve amazing love."

"I thought I had it once, with Katie," Tuck said softly.

"Things are not always as they seem," Nana said. "Katie is a wonderful woman, to be sure, and a fantastic mother to Joe. She was just simply not meant to be yours, nor you, hers."

"Soul mates, Nana, really?" Tuck said, but he was only teasing.

"Why, certainly." Nana began arranging the glasses on the tray and pulled out a handful of brightly colored bendy straws. "In fact, I believe you have found yours."

"Is that right?" Tuck lifted his brows. "It seemed a moment ago you had some misgivings about her traveling so much."

"I have misgivings about the _both_ of you traveling that much, but I come from a different era," Nana said. "In my days, women were mostly at home, and men worked at the office. I'm certainly not suggesting that anyone these days lives by that, unless it works for them to do so. Personally, I rather enjoy seeing these young cookies with their get-up-and-go make something of themselves, like Chase and Lauren and so many other young women. I find I like to live vicariously through them." Her eyes crinkled at the corner. "And if you two feel that you can make your love and marriage work no matter _where _you are and what you're doing, why, that's all that matters."

"So you really approve then?" Tuck asked, but he already knew the answer.

"I really do. I like your Chase. She's smart, she's classy, she's _sassy_. Fearless, vibrant. Loves Joe, and your family and your extended family." Nana tilted her head and smiled. "And, Tuck, most of all I love the way she looks at you."

"What do you mean?" Tuck asked, half of an embarrassed smile tugging at his mouth.

"I think you and I both can agree that Chase is not some insipid, silly little foolish girl. She's quite the independent young lady, and I'd stand to wager that she's never in her life truly needed a man, much less really _wanted_ one to muddy the waters of her very driven life. But when she looks at you, my dear, it's almost like the entire world recedes for her, and you are the only thing in the world she sees. Everything starts and ends with you, and her eyes light up like stars when she looks at you." She paused, and her own eyes glistened softly. "I can tell because that's precisely how I feel when I look at Gramps."

Tuck smiled up at her, and reached out to cover her hand with his. "I always liked the way you two looked at each other. If Chase and I even sort of resemble that, well, I suppose we're doing something correctly, aren't we?"

"I'd say so," Nana said, smiling. "You just take good care of her. I know she's a strong, tough little woman, but even they need the love of a good man to steady them."

"I will," Tuck said, suddenly finding it necessary to clear his throat.

"I know." Nana patted his cheek again, and then pushed the full, large glass pitchers toward him. "Help an old woman outside, won't you, my dear?"

She picked up the tray with the glasses and Tuck led the way outside, holding the door open for her before joining the family in the backyard.

It was the perfect Sunday afternoon, he realized, smiling around at his friends, his family, but the realization was tempered with sadness as he thought about how much Chase would have enjoyed herself as well. She would have more than likely perched herself on his knee, despite there being more than enough seating available all over the backyard, and would have traded teasing jabs with Gramps and FDR, while going out of her way to help Nana in the kitchen. Since Lauren had gotten pregnant, Chase had been unfailingly doting on her friend, making sure she was always properly hydrated and had plenty of snacks on hand. Eventually, as the afternoon wore on, she would have kicked off her high heels to play with Joe and the dogs in the grass, and she would have caught Tuck's eye across the lawn, her cheeks flushed with her play and her eyes bright and sparkling, promising him any number of delicious activities to be had as soon as they returned home in the evening.

His lips curled up into an absent smile as he recalled the way she would pounce on him as soon as they made it through the door. She was a bit of a private exhibitionist, liking to make love in the kitchen or hallway near the door, the excitement of her moans being heard by the neighbors only adding to the thrill. Other times, they would retire to the bedroom and spend the entire evening in bed, kissing and touching and devouring each other until they fell asleep.

_It's been five days_, he chastised himself in annoyance. _Relax_. But he couldn't help it – _Jesus, but I miss that woman._

They had managed to Skype every day since she had been gone. They normally timed it so that they could communicate in the morning, his time, which was usually late afternoon, her time. Some days they had been able to Skype twice, late at night for him and early morning for her. They had a Skype date set up for this evening, to which he was looking forward with great anticipation.

The rest of the afternoon passed leisurely. After the late lunch/early dinner, they all pitched in to help Nana and Gramps clean everything up. Tuck took Joe home to Katie, promising to pick him up soon to stay for a few days before Katie swept him off for a week to visit her parents. Tuck wasn't particularly wild about the idea of pulling Joe out of school for a vacation, essentially, but Katie's parents were preparing to go on a long cruise and wanted to see both their daughter and their grandson before doing so.

When Tuck arrived back at the loft, he tossed his keys onto the counter and glanced around. It seemed so very empty without Chase here, filling the place with her energy and exuberance. If she wasn't cleaning, she was cooking. If she wasn't cooking, she was doing laundry. If she wasn't doing laundry, she was working. If she wasn't working, she was reading or watching TV. But even at her moments of rest she was still energetic, constantly moving around to get comfortable or trying to start tickle fights with him on the couch that normally ended in a furious wrestling match on the carpet (which often tended to lead to other things) or with her lying on her back on the couch, having been pinned by Tuck, who would tickle her mercilessly to give her a taste of her own medicine (which often tended to lead to other things).

He noticed as well that since she'd been gone, he'd been getting a little lazy with the housekeeping. He had always considered himself to be a tidy person, taking care of dishes in the sink without much delay, doing laundry every couple weeks, dusting, keeping things organized. But since he and Chase had begun living together, she had taken on these duties. It was not that he expected her to do them; he was perfectly content to clean up after himself and trade off on chores, but she was such a control freak that she had often chided him to just "let her take care of it" as she felt better about being able to control the state of their home. For all her knowledge and skill, however, Chase was not much of a handyman, so chores and duties requiring the use of tools or a plunger she graciously relinquished to him.

Tuck glanced at the clock and saw that it was just after seven at night. That meant that it was about four in the morning in Paris, and Chase was likely still asleep. He knew she'd call between six and seven in the morning her time, which meant it would be between nine and ten at night, his time.

He wondered if she was getting all the rest she required; since her first day in Paris, she'd seemed tired, distracted, though she'd done an admirable job of deflecting all of his questions relating to those things. "I'm just jetlagged," she would say. "I haven't caught up to Paris time yet."

_Bullocks_, he wanted to reply, but something made him bite his tongue. Chase was superbly adept at altering her inner clock to fit in line with whatever time zone she found herself in, no matter where in the world she was. He'd seen it before, and he knew that she'd never experienced jetlag the way she was trying to say she was experiencing it now. Not to mention, they had _all_ undergone training to make them skilled at operating on very little sleep. She was distracted by something, troubled, worried; but she wasn't jetlagged.

He wondered how things were really going in Paris. She had not said much about the case at all, telling him there wasn't much to report. She and Benjamin were spending the weekend resting up and getting acclimated to the area before starting in their respective positions within the Embassy. Chase was going to be working in the Defense Attaché, dealing specifically with the arrangements of the United States President's visit coming up in a couple of weeks. Benjamin was going to be placed in the Executive office, serving as assistant – "errand boy", as Tuck liked to think – to the Ambassador. She had said earlier that she and Benjamin had not really spoken much since landing in Paris, although they were due to have a video chat in the evening to go over their first days at the Embassy.

Tuck listened to all of this, but what struck him most was the shadow that fell across her face whenever she discussed the al-Fahsihd crime family or her partner. But every time he pressed her for information, she waved him off. "Let's talk about _us_," she would say, her smoky blue-gray eyes going wide, her full lips pouting a little, her tone wheedling and soft, and Tuck would go all mushy and do as she asked, and he'd be damned if he didn't feel completely hoodwinked every time they ended their chats.

_Not tonight_, he thought firmly. To prove his point to himself, he set about securing the loft, turning off lights and checking the locks on the doors and windows, and then gathering up his laptop and carrying it upstairs to the bedroom. He got ready for bed, changing out of his clothes into a simple pair of soft cotton pajama pants and climbing between the sheets despite the extremely early hour, planning to watch TV in the bedroom until she called. There would be no distractions on his end that would prevent him from getting her to tell him what was really going on with her.

He was watching the news when he received her video call on his laptop. He connected the Skype call, and a moment later, her image filled his laptop screen. Despite his firm resolve to get her to talk about what was on her mind with him, he couldn't help taking a moment to appreciate the sight of her, dressed in nothing but a low, scoop-neck white ribbed tank top and panties, her hair slightly mussed from her sleep. Her eyes were clear and her face bright; he suspected she had probably washed her face to wake herself up a little as it was about six-thirty in the morning in Paris.

"Hello, love," he said warmly, as she leaned closer to the screen. "Good morning."

"Good evening, baby," she said with a sweet smile. "I love waking up to your face."

"I love going to sleep to yours. How are you? Did you sleep well?"

"I did," she replied, but the dark circles under her eyes made him think otherwise. She bit her lip as her eyes raked down his body. "God, you look sexy, Tuck."

Tuck forgot that he was only wearing his pajama pants and glanced down at his bare chest. "Did it just for you, sweetheart," he joked. "You are quite a sight yourself." He paused to eye and appreciate her cleavage. "Have I mentioned how much I miss you in our bed? In my presence, in general?"

"I miss you too, baby," she said, tilting her head. Her wavy hair cascaded down her arm. From what he could see, she was still stretched out in her bed, leaning on her arm. He could just make out her lace-clad hips in the background.

"You look tired, Chase," he said, a little sternly. He shook himself slightly, refocusing his eyes from her hips to her face. _Stay on track. She has some explaining to do._ "In fact, you've been looking tired and troubled since you got there. Particularly troubled."

"This again, Tuck?" Chase asked with a frown, a note of irritation in her voice.

"Yes, this again. Because I don't for one moment believe your rubbish about being jetlagged. You snap out of jetlag faster than anyone I've ever met."

"Yeah, well," Chase hedged. "Maybe I'm getting old and I can't do things like I used to."

"Rubbish," he said pointedly. "My darling, I know when you are not being honest with me, and this would be one of those times. Tell me what's troubling you. Because I can clearly see that something is."

Chase looked him in the eye. "_Nothing_, Tuck," she said, her voice sincere and making his eyes narrow in suspicion. "I don't know if maybe I've caught some little cold or something or my immune system is weakened from the traveling. I've been hanging out in my flat trying to get lots of rest and prep for my first day at the Embassy. I'm a little stressed. Plus I miss you." She batted her long, thick lashes ever so slightly at him as her velvety voice took on that slight wheedling tone and her lips pouted out at him a little.

He studied her for a long moment. "As you say," he said finally, though his instincts told him she was still not being truthful with him. "Promise me though, Chase, that nothing is truly the matter. Promise me that, and I'll let this drop so as not to stress you out on your first day."

"Nothing is the matter," she said soothingly, and her eyes dropped just a little. "And I appreciate that you don't want to stress me out on my first day." Tuck noticed she did not say the words "I promise" and that made his radar go off. He opened his mouth to point that out, but then her tongue slipped past her lips to draw the bottom one in between her teeth and he forgot all about what he was going to say. "Did I mention how sexy you look? Are you wearing those black pajama bottoms I got you? The super soft ones?"

"I am," he replied, giving up on trying to get any real answers from her. How did she always manage to do this? "The very same. They make me think of you when I put them on."

"Mm." One corner of her lush mouth pulled up into a smile. "From what I recall, that material is very clingy and drapey and hangs off your ass just right."

Tuck laughed aloud. "Is that what you recall?"

"Stand up for me, baby. Let me see if I'm right."

Gamely, Tuck turned the laptop and got out of bed to stand up. He watched as her eyes went over his tanned, tattooed, muscular torso, slipping lower to take in the way the pants, which were indeed very clingy and drapey, hung off his backside and left very little to the imagination about what he was holding in the front, which was steadily growing harder at her obvious appreciation for his body and the sight of her ever-present cleavage, taunting him through the screen.

He got back into bed, giving her an unmistakably clear view of his growing arousal as he went, and turned the laptop toward him. She was biting her lip again, her hand lazily stroking at her stomach.

"Goddamn, Tuck," she said breathily, her eyes finding his through the computer screen. "You are so fucking sexy. I miss you so much."

"I miss you, too," he murmured back.

"I can see that," she said mischievously, eyeing his pelvic area obviously. Then again, he'd purposely positioned both himself and his laptop to make it nice and visible. "I miss that, too." He watched intently as the hand on her stomach slid down to just above her panties. "More than you know."

He jerked involuntarily inside his soft pants. "Why don't you show me then, sweetheart?" His voice had gone low and husky, and his breathing and his pulse began to accelerate.

"As you wish," she said softly and gave him a little naughty smile. She sat up and he watched as she pulled off her tank top, her hair cascading down her bare back. She turned to face the screen again and he grunted in approval as he eyed her rounded breasts, her nipples pink and erect and tantalizing. He strained inside his pants, but he kept his hands folded on his stomach.

"Touch them for me, love. Touch them like you know I would."

Chase looked into his eyes from the screen as her hands moved to her breasts, and he watched she tilted her head back and closed her eyes, her hands squeezing and kneading the thick, soft flesh in mimicry of his hands. Her fingers slipped to her nipples and they pinched and tugged. Her soft but heavy breathing came over the laptop, filling his ears deliciously. He clenched his hands together as his mouth began to salivate; he wanted to be the one touching her so badly he was shaking.

Chase opened her eyes and met his once more and he couldn't suppress another groan as she pushed her breast up high toward her mouth, using her other hand to pull the top part of it back and simultaneously bring her nipple closer to her mouth. Her tongue slipped out and flicked over her nipple before she managed to draw it in between her lips.

"Fuck," he hissed, unable to resist any longer, and slipped a hand inside his pants. Her eyes caught the movement and she begged, "Take it out and let me see."

He pulled his aching member free of his pajama bottoms, and her eyes went wide at the sight of him hard and thick, long and eager for her.

"Your turn," he managed to say, squeezing his shaft before running his hand up to his tip and squeezing there too. A drop of moisture beaded the top and he used his thumb to spread it over the tip, wanting so badly to be inside her instead.

Chase pushed herself up again, and angled her body so that her hips were full-screen and he could see every tantalizing, agonizing inch she lowered her panties down, until they were sliding down her legs. She repositioned her body so that he could see just about everything and her hand slipped between her thighs and her fingers began to stroke.

She leaned her head back as a little whiny moan escaped her throat. "Tuck," she whimpered. "God, I wish you were here right now."

He rumbled a moan deep in chest, his eyes glued to her hand and his own pumped at himself. "Me too, sweetheart," he said with difficulty. "You have no idea how fucking bad I wish I was with you right now."

She opened her eyes slightly as she continued to work her fingers against herself. "What would you do to me?" she purred.

"Sweetheart, I would fuck you until you begged me to stop," Tuck growled, his hand pumping faster as he refused to take his eyes off her. "Then I would eat that sweet snatch you have between those glorious thighs of yours until you came all over my tongue...and then I would fuck you some more."

She moaned louder this time, her breathing steadily increasing. She met his eyes again and a little smile pulled at one corner of her lips even as she groaned again, her hips lifting up a little against her deft fingers. "Would you want me riding you?" she breathed. "Or would you want to fuck me from the back?"

"Shit," he hissed, feeling a surge white hot pleasure at her naughty words, his hand squeezing hard around his length and moving impossibly faster. "Both. I want both. I want to see you on top of me so I can look at every inch of your gorgeous body and the way you move your hips on me because it's so fucking sexy, Chase. And then I want to bend you over so I can see every inch of that perfect ass of yours." He grunted again, feeling his scrotum jerk and get tight and letting him know he was close.

"Would you pull it out of me?" she whispered. "Would you pull it out right before you came, and let me suck on it to finish you?"

"Fuck, yes," he grunted. On the screen, Chase's hand was moving faster, almost in time with his own hand.

"Tuck," she whined, and he felt himself reach his limit.

"Let me see it, Chase," he managed. "Turn your body and let me see."

She knew what he meant and somehow managed to shift around on her bed until her hips were pointed in his direction and her face was slightly in the background. He watched, transfixed, as her fingers moved so quickly over her sex, and even through the computer screen he could see the glint of moisture coating her swollen flesh. Her other hand joined in, and she slipped two fingers inside herself as the fingers of her other hand continued to work the sweet pearl at the top of her core.

"Oh, shit, Tuck," she gasped. "I want you fucking me right now so bad I can taste you. I'm so close right now."

"Fucking bloody hell," he hissed. "Come for me, love. _Fuck_, Chase – let me see you come."

On the screen, he watched as she tilted back her head and let out a strangled, gasping cry as her body seized, her hips bucking up slightly off the bed. A gush of fluid burst out of her, and the sight of it was enough to send Tuck right off the edge after her, cursing and growling as he grabbed a random T-shirt from nearby and flooded it with the seed of his climax, wishing it was her walls instead. He strained against his hand, catching his breath, as on the screen Chase was still trembling, her hand stroking herself lightly and soothingly.

For a moment, they both lay panting in silence, and then Chase's low giggle met his ears, and he couldn't contain a smile at the sound.

"What, you cheeky thing?" he murmured.

"I told you Skype sex could be fun."

"Fun, yes," he said, "but also frustrating because I want you so fucking bad and you're not even remotely close to me. That part bloody sucks."

She shifted to bring her face closer to the screen again. "I know," she said softly. "I miss you like crazy too, baby. But I'll be home before you know it. This job is gonna be cake – in, out, home."

"When you return home to me," he murmured, touching the screen over her cheek with a finger, "we are not leaving this bed of ours for at least an entire twenty-four hours. No work, no phones, no laptops. Just us."

"That sounds amazing," Chase said softly with a smile. "Count on that." Suddenly, a soft chiming noise met his ears and he realized it was the alarm on her phone going off. She glanced at him through the screen apologetically. "That was my 'you really, _really_ need to get your ass out of bed' alarm," she explained ruefully. "I've gotta get going, baby."

"It's all right, I understand," Tuck said, sadness pulling at his heart. "You've got a big day ahead of you. I'll call you in the morning my time, when you'll be home. All right, my love?"

"Yes, you better," she said. She leaned forward and kissed the screen, her lips pushing up against it, and he laughed, brushing the screen over her mouth with a finger. "Sweet dreams, Tuck."

"Have a good day, sweetheart," he returned lightly. "Talk soon."

After they disconnected, Tuck cleaned himself up in the bathroom a little and then got back into bed, sighing deeply. He felt physically satisfied from his release, but he _needed_ her; it didn't matter that it had been only five days with God-only-knew how many more. She was a part of him, and not having her there was like missing his right arm.

He reached out and grabbed her pillow, pulling it against his chest and inhaling the scent of her that still lingered there, and eventually drifted off.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Happy Friday loves! Things are getting underway in Paris. The action should be popping off in a couple of chapters, methinks. Enjoy, and don't forget to leave me reviews. I'm not playing. REVIEW! (...please and thank you...)**

**Chapter 8**

Chase disconnected from Tuck with a sigh, leaning back against her pillows for a moment. Even from over five thousand miles away, Tuck could somehow bring her body life like nothing else. She missed him, missed his touch, his scent, his body, his presence. She ached, she missed him so much.

With a sigh she hauled herself out of bed to begin getting ready for her first day at the Embassy. Aside from missing him terribly, and having that emotional ache transcend into a physical one, she also felt a little guilt. _Maybe because you've been lying through teeth to him?_ she asked herself sarcastically. It really was stupid, she knew, and a perfect example of how one little white lie could snowball into something much bigger. Initially her intention had been to simply stay quiet on her feelings about Benjamin and also seeing Ahmed al-Fahsihd out and about to not worry him. But it was easy to sometimes forget that Tuck possessed the same skills that she did, and not only that, he was extremely in tune with her and could _always_ sense when something was amiss. Always. She kept having to distract him with other topics of conversation or more _pleasing_ activities, but she knew that it was only a temporary reprieve before he started in on her again.

_Tell him when there's really something to tell_, she thought firmly. There was no sense in getting anyone riled up over hinky feelings and unfounded suspicions.

She showered quickly and smoothed her wavy hair into a simple but elegant knot at the nape of her neck. She pulled out a tailored, crisp black skirt suit and a pewter-colored blouse that matched her smoky gray-blue eyes. She added a pair of black designer heels, some simple jewelry, and gathered all of the necessary documents and forms of identification required for her "first day on the job" – in itself almost a laughable notion given what she was really there to do.

She had spoken with Benjamin briefly the evening before. He had said that he was comfortable with the area he was living in, knew where and how to access the Metro, and had even taken it to the stop near the Embassy so he would know precisely where he was going. Having been to Paris a number of times before, Chase had not done that, but she was pleased that Benjamin had. It reminded her of herself when she was just starting college; the weekend before she began her freshman year at NYU, and then later when she transferred to MIT to further her studies in linguistics and technology, she had visited the campuses and located where all of her classes were, how long it took to get to each one with the allotted time per her schedule, all in relation to where she would be living.

She liked to be prepared.

She walked the short distance from her flat to the Metro station and hopped aboard, taking a seat and calmly ignoring the people around her. Her files and other necessary important items were tucked neatly away in her business satchel, and she crossed her legs demurely and kept to herself despite several pointed stares from a few of the man on the train in her direction. Her thoughts turned to the day and to the overall mission. She sighed inwardly, wishing for the umpteenth time that she knew how long this whole thing would take to wrap-up. With a wedding looming just a couple months away, it made it very difficult, to say the least, to do any planning. It was the main reason they had decided to have the ceremony and the reception at Nana's. It would be much easier to cancel the date if necessary and reschedule any arrangements already made.

The main objective was to gather as much intelligence on the bombing and assassination plots as possible and alert the authorities in enough time to prevent such things from happening, all while uncovering any information that might clue her in to the other thing the family _had _to be planning. Per her knowledge of the case and her and Benjamin's roles, the Secret Service in Washington, D.C. had of course been alerted to the threat on the President's life. It was nothing new to them, Chase realized, as the President's life was threatened practically every time he left the White House. However, it went without saying they needed to be made privy to any and all threats to end the President's life. The Secret Service and other high-ranking members of the government were informed that Chase and Benjamin were being planted in the Embassy and what their mission was, as well as the top-level security personnel within the Embassy. Chase was also aware that no one in the Executive office of the American Embassy, including the Ambassador, was aware of her and Benjamin's true identity. The CIA generally played by their own rules; the fewer who knew about them, the better.

She hopped off the Metro near the Place de la Concorde, close the Champs-Élysées. She spared a glance toward the enormous square, with its looming Obelisk, tall and proud, along with its beautiful historic fountains. She smiled, and made a mental note to eat lunch here when she could. She continued down the street until she reached Avenue Gabriel. From here, she could already see the American flag that marked the location of the United States Embassy. She felt her stomach flip a little bit in excitement and she quickened her pace ever so slightly.

"Chase! Agent Moreno!"

She turned instantly at the sound of her name, spinning on the balls of her feet, and saw Benjamin scurrying toward her, dressed in a plain suit. He grinned widely and waved as he hurried to her side.

Rare fury tinged with panic flooded her system and for a moment she quite forgot herself. She grabbed a handful of his jacket lapel and hauled him in close, her smoky eyes darkening with rage.

"Are you _fucking_ stupid?" she seethed through clenched teeth, her eyes darting around at the passers-by milling about around them. "I don't know if you slept through basic, but don't you ever, _ever_ call me by either my name _or _title when we're undercover!" She shook him slightly. "Not to mention the fact that _we don't know each other!_ Do you _want_ to wrap this case before we start it?"

She shook him a little again, the movement small but powerful, and released him with a shove. She had kept her voice pitched low and instantly regretted her display of anger, but – _how fucking stupid! He's going to get me in trouble or killed, if not both!_

Benjamin stared at her with huge green eyes, shock evident in every feature of him. "I-I'm sorry," he stuttered. "I-I guess I'm just excited."

"First of all, calm down, and I'm sorry for losing my shit," Chase muttered, her voice very quiet as she backed away from him a couple steps. "Second of all – stop talking to me. _We don't know each other. _I will call you _later_."

She practically mumbled the rest of her sentence out of the corner of her mouth and turned on the ball of her foot again, striding away from him quickly. She shook her head, anger still coursing through her. Luckily they were still a good block away from the Embassy and practically no one on the street had given them a second look. But still – she could understand excitement; hell, she had just felt her own little butterflies at the sight of the Embassy. But for him to forget his training was inexcusable. Between the two of them, if anyone should have been more "SOP'd up" it should have been Benjamin, having _just _graduated basic far more recently than she had.

_Kid's green, he's inexperienced, no one saw, cut him some slack_, a reasonable voice in her head said. _You fucked up on your first mission too, and a senior agent had to set _your _ass straight as well. _

On her very first assignment, Chase had been sent to Rome to with a senior black ops agent to gather intelligence on a link between a crime family in the United States and its ties "back home". While the senior agent had gone into restaurant where the supposed leaders of the crime family were, Chase had fumbled the audio surveillance equipment, and they had captured none of the juicy intel that the dons were spilling. She recalled in vivid detail the twenty-minute ass-chewing of a lifetime she had received, and the senior agent had made her stand at attention for the first half of his tirade, and then down in the front-leaning rest position for the second half. She was not perfect, by any means, but she always remembered her training and she always, always remembered the senior agent's closing words to her.

_Proper preparation is the difference between life and death, Agent! Pull your fucking head out of your asshole and if you don't remember a single goddamn thing I'm yelling at you now, _always_ remember that! _

And she always had.

Chase sighed as she quickened her pace. She would have to apologize – albeit grudgingly – to Benjamin later on and explain the importance of covertness on a mission since he had apparently forgotten that very small lesson beat into their heads during operative training. Though she had once had to learn it the hard way, she felt that maybe she'd been a little harsh with him. She winced inwardly, recalling the look on his face after she'd blown up on him. Hopefully she hadn't scarred him for life, but she was legitimately worried. If he had been so quick to forget his training and refer to her by name and title _out loud_ a block away from their target location, what _else_ would he forget to do today? Would he forget to use his pseudonym even though they both had detailed, forged backgrounds and carefully crafted Embassy badges to allow them access to the building? Would he off-handedly ask someone if they'd heard about the bomb and death threats that he was supposed to know nothing about? Would he spill the beans to the Ambassador?

The thoughts made Chase's stomach clench and tighten with stress; it was going to be a _long_ day before she could talk to Benjamin again, and she only wished she'd been more thorough – or controlling, as some people like FDR and Tuck were wont to say – the day before when they had chatted on the phone. And because they didn't "know" each other – or rather, "Charlotte Hansen" and "Peter Cooke" didn't know each other – she couldn't even eat lunch with him to go over it. It wasn't smart to have that discussion in public anyway. As Chase reached the front security gate, she closed her eyes and swallowed, sending up a quick prayer.

_Please, please, Lord, please don't let this kid fuck this all up today. _

She let out a long breath and fixed a smile on her face as she stepped up toward the security officer, showing him her badge.

"_Bonjour,_" she said sweetly.

"_Nom?"_ the guard asked, looking at her badge carefully. "_Avez-vous autre identification?_"

"_Je m'appelle _Charlotte Hansen. _Tiens._"She handed over an American driver's license with her false identity as well as her passport.

"_Est-ce votre premier jour à l'ambassade_?"he asked.

Chase nodded affirmatively . The guard studied her documents a moment longer and then handed them back with a brusque nod. He directed her toward the entrance and bid her a good day. As she strolled past the gate she wondered again how Benjamin would fare. Language was a specialty of hers and she was fairly certain that Benjamin only possessed a perfunctory knowledge of basic French. She sighed to herself and sent up another prayer request.

_Please, please, please imbue this kid with the knowledge he needs to perform effectively on this mission,_ she begged silently.

She reached the entrance to the Embassy and took a moment to put her game face on. It was show time.

* * *

In the early evening, Chase trudged along the Avenue Gabriel toward the Metro. She sent Benjamin a quick message, telling him to meet her at her flat so they could run down their days and compare notes. And she had plenty to share; her mind was whirling from her day and the revelations about the case that had come to her.

Chase had spent the morning, lunch and the rest of the afternoon in various meetings, making the acquaintances of the various military officials and other admins of the Defense Attaché, including _the _Defense Attaché, or the Senior Defense Official.

He was an imposing, highly decorated United States Army colonel, and Chase had felt herself standing at attention in his presence. CIA clandestine operative training was not so dissimilar from military training, and she felt herself automatically shifting into "grunt mode" in the presence of not only an officer, but an extremely high-ranking officer who was essentially in charge of this department of the Embassy.

_At ease, little solider,_ she had told herself sarcastically, relaxing just a teeny bit and returning his extremely firm handshake with one of her own. It never failed to amaze her how men in professional settings tended to shake women's hands with equal pressure as they did other men's. She took a small amount of glee in the brief surprise that registered on many a man's face at the strength of her returning grip as she looked them directly in the eye and unflinchingly introduced herself with confidence and pride. She had damn near broken poor Benjamin's hand when she had first met him.

The colonel did not know anything about Chase, and certainly nothing about Benjamin, as was the intent. Under her cover of "Charlotte Hansen", she was going to be working with the colonel in an administrative role. It was what she had identified as a glorified secretarial role, but with greater exposure to extremely sensitive matters and more responsibility. The Agency had gone to painstaking lengths to establish her cover, with documents and records forged to illustrate her background as a Harvard graduate, specializing in Foreign Affairs, fluent in French, with extensive experience working in Washington, DC on various sensitive, sometimes top-secret operations.

This particular position would allow her access to information that could be of interest for someone who possessed less than honorable intentions with it. In going over her notes and case files, and now being inside the Embassy, it was apparent to her that whoever it was that had been feeding Toussaint information in the United States had a contact here within the Embassy. Which added another piece of the puzzle and yet one more person to track down.

_Mole in the Embassy feeds info to mole in the States, who feeds it to Toussaint, who feeds it to the al-Fahsihds, _she thought as she walked along. _Toussaint and al-Fahsids and Embassy mole are all in Paris. But what about the US mole?_

The greatest takeaway from the day was that now she knew that the chatter of the threats had been relayed from the Agency to the FBI to Washington. As the colonel shared with her, the Embassy had received some threats against the building, the US president, the British prime minister, and the other leaders of foreign countries who were supposed to all congregate for a "meeting of the minds" later this week. This date, in light of the threats, had been changed to a date a week or so from now, and was not to be communicated to anyone outside the Embassy. Chase knew he was telling her this as part of her job was to assist with the organization of the meeting – everything from travel arrangements, to reserving meeting spaces, catering, preparing materials, and the like. With the original meeting, there had been some public and global advertisement, the Embassy wanting to send the message that foreign leaders really did and could get along. There had been quite a bit of fanfare expected, as this sort of thing was great for positive press, but that was to be done away with. The media would not be let in on the new date of this meeting until it took place.

Chase knew that the date change would make headlines, and likely journalists would surmise that it was likely due to threats of some sort, provided that information specifically did not leak to make their hypotheses into actual fact. She sighed inwardly, knowing what a shit storm could potentially break over their heads should that information leak as well.

On the train, she pinched the bridge of her nose, her mind still swirling like mad. "Cluster fuck," she murmured to herself.

When she reached Pigalle, she walked from the Metro back to her flat quickly, noting the time. Benjamin had been released from his first day on the job a bit sooner than she had, and she found him loitering at the secure entrance to her building, examining the keypad in boredom as he waited for her.

"Hey," she said by way of greeting, glancing around. She wanted to keep things very impersonal between them out in public, as though he were a visitor of someone else in the building who had not yet been buzzed in. Just in case someone was watching.

She opened the door for him and nodded as he stepped past her, making his way up the stairs. For a moment she was confused that he seemed to know exactly where he was going, but then she recalled that he had assisted her with her bags their first night.

She shut the door behind her and then climbed the stairs after him. She unlocked her door and stepped inside, holding the door for him again, and then locking up behind her. She watched as he shook out of his jacket and hung it on the stand next to the door. She gestured toward the sofa and moved toward the kitchen.

"Hungry?" she called.

"Sure," he replied. "Thank you."

Because she didn't feel like going to great lengths, and because she was really enjoying the simple, fresh meals she'd been eating lately, she prepared a platter of sliced baguette, a block of Parmesan and a block of smoked Gouda, slices of ham, some fresh vegetables and fruit. She thought about grabbing a bottle of wine, but that seemed weird to share with Benjamin, so she grabbed a couple bottles of mineral water instead and carried it all out to the living room.

"Hey, that looks great," Benjamin said sincerely. "I didn't have time for lunch today so I'm starved."

"Oh," Chase said, blinking. She couldn't understand the concept of missing a meal. "Well, dig in." She sat down in an armchair across from him and watched as he voraciously tore into a baguette, following with slices of cheese and ham, and finishing up with a couple of grapes. She reached for a baguette and laid a slice of crumbly Parmesan over the top, nibbling at it as she pensively watched him chomp down.

"Listen," she said finally. "I want to apologize for losing my shit this morning."

Benjamin blinked, and furrowed his brow as though he were struggling to remember exactly what she was talking about. Then realization struck him and he shrugged.

"It's no big deal," he said, averting his eyes. "I was really dumb for that – you were right to dig in my ass about it."

"Regardless," she said. "We're partners and should have a certain level of respect for each other. And that wasn't respectful of me at all. I can be a little high-strung on cases sometimes. I want everything to be perfect and go according to plan. You may have been told that I'm a control-freak."

Benjamin tried to keep his face straight, but a smirk twisted his lips anyway. Chase rolled her eyes, though she was pleased that he didn't seem to be upset with her.

"Anyway, I am sorry for that. I just really need you to be on top of things on this case; there's so much going on." She paused to take another bite of her mini-sandwich. "Which leads me to the next thing I wanted to talk about."

She proceeded to fill him on her day, including the intel that the colonel had unwittingly supplied her regarding the date change for the global leaders' meeting. Benjamin was rapt, perching on the edge of the sofa, his elbows on his knees, hanging onto her every word.

She followed up her rundown with her theories, other thoughts about the case, and how she suspected that there had to be a fourth player, a mole in the Embassy itself. She asked Benjamin to pull information on all of the employees at the Embassy; he was in the Executive office, after all, and had access to those files.

"So tell me about your day," she said when she finished. "Anything of interest in the Executive office?"

"Surprisingly not yet," Benjamin said with a shrug. "I spent most of the day meeting different people and getting a tour of the compound. The Ambassador pretty much kept me at his side most of the day, or had me shadow other people in the office. I don't expect to be let loose until later this week." He shifted. "But I'll try to get that information. I don't know how to capture it though – they make us drop our cell phones with guards just inside the building."

"Hang on." Chase rose from her seat and went into her bedroom. She pulled one of her suitcases onto the bed and opened a special compartment where she kept a variety of tools and gadgets. She pulled out what looked like a fountain pen and brought it back to Benjamin in the living room.

"What's this? A pen?" he asked, twirling it between his fingers.

"Yes. It's also a camera." She shrugged. "It's a little cliché, but it's extremely sensitive and state-of-the-art. It has a super high digital resolution and can be activated by pressing a button on the side under the cap. It's also a functioning pen. That should take care of your issue."

He held it up and stared at it in wonder. "Where was I when they were handing out toys?" he asked incredulously. "I don't think I have any fun spy gadgets."

Chase couldn't help laughing. "That's really a surprise, given what a techie you are. Well, you can keep that one. I have a few."

"Thanks." He toyed with the pen, then glanced back up at her. "So you said that they changed the date of the global leaders' meeting to a week from now. Do you have an exact date?"

Automatically Chase's eyes narrowed, but she glanced down at her lap on the pretense of shifting in her chair and cleared her throat. It was the sort of question that a partner had a right to ask of their partner; but it sent her internal alarm bells off. Then she immediately felt bad; Benjamin was only trying to be helpful and involved, and again – it was pertinent information that he needed to know as her partner on the case.

"Don't have the exact date yet," she said honestly. "I'm hoping to find that out shortly, in the next couple days. Guess I'll be taking a pen of my own into the office."

Her eyes went over him as he suddenly seemed to get fidgety. Knee-pumping, eye-shifting, head-scratching. _Maybe he needs to take a piss_, Chase thought critically, tilting her head as she studied him.

"You okay?" she asked coolly.

"Me? Yeah, I'm good." He swiped his palms on his pants. "Hey, I better get going. Need to prep and go over some stuff before tomorrow. Maybe call my mom to check in. Thanks for the food, Chase. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

He spoke rapidly as he stood up, crossing the room to get his jacket. Chase rose and trailed after him, folding her arms.

"You sure you're good?" she asked. "You seem like something is wrong."

He looked embarrassed as he scrubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, well. Actually – this is sort of embarrassing but…I'm lactose intolerant, and I ate way too much of that cheese." He flushed. "TMI, I know."

"Yep," Chase said, opening her door and waving him out. "Definitely TMI. Go, go."

Benjamin left her flat in a hurry, and she shut the door and locked it after him. For a long moment she stood with her palms pressed to the door, leaning against it, glaring off into space.

He'd had to leave in a hurry, all right, she thought to herself. But she suspected it had very little to do with his gastrointestinal issues.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Happy Monday, guys! Enjoy today's chapter. And then review. Besos!**

**Chapter 9**

On Friday, Chase sat in the café that she and Benjamin had agreed to meet at to discuss their week. They had not spoken in person since Monday, and had not communicated at all since Wednesday despite the calls, texts, and emails Chase had been leaving him. And since they did not work near each other, Chase hadn't even been able to see him to be able to glare at him and nonverbally communicate her displeasure.

And she was highly displeased.

She sighed and folded her arms over her chest, tapping her foot. She had gone home after work to change into jeans, boots, and a sweater before catching the Metro to travel to an entirely different neighborhood to meet Benjamin. That had been around six, and it was now just past seven-thirty.

And Benjamin was supposed to meet her at seven.

Chase grabbed her phone and sent him a text. "_Where are you?"_ She set the phone down with difficulty, having to restrain herself from adding "_you little shit_". She sipped at her cappuccino and waited impatiently. After a long seven-minute interval, her phone finally buzzed and she snatched it up. As she read the message, she dimly wondered whether the young man behind the counter, the only other person in the café, could see the steam she _felt_ pouring from her ears.

"_Sorry, got busy with some stuff. Be there in ten."_

Her hand clenched around the phone and she set it down quickly before she cracked the screen. She forced herself to calmly sip her cappuccino and swallow her wrath. She wanted to dig into his ass as soon as she saw him, but she knew that it would only cause him to become defensive. She wanted to know precisely what this other "stuff" was that he had found himself busy with. By her lights, there was but one thing for them to busy themselves with these days – the case.

After a few more minutes, Chase got up to get a couple of croissants, a plain one and a chocolate one, plus some fresh berries and cheese. She was starving, and decided to screw Benjamin. He could fend for himself; she'd waited long enough.

She had just pulled apart the plain croissant and sliced off some of the cheese when he finally barreled through the door a little bit later. He spotted her immediately, as the café was completely empty, which had been Chase's intention in selecting this particular location. Chase chewed her bite, watching through narrowed eyes as he made his way over to her and dropped into the seat across from her.

"Hey," he said breathlessly. "Sorry about that. This week has been hectic. Today has been crazy. Hey, that looks good." He stretched his fingers toward her plate and Chase looked at him like he was insane, slapping his hand away hard and automatically brandishing her knife.

"The hell are _you_ doing?" she demanded. "Go get your own. _Someone _kept me waiting all damn evening like _I _don't have work to do and I got too hungry to wait any longer."

Benjamin looked at her sheepishly and got up to place his own order. He returned a few moments later with a latte and his own plate of pastry, fruit and cheese.

"So, _partner_," Chase said pointedly, and not a little sarcastically. "You've been rather ghost all week, haven't you?" Her smoky blue-gray eyes bored into his. "Haven't been returning my messages or phone calls, can't be bothered to show up to our meeting on time." She took a vicious bite of her croissant. "This better be case-related."

"Um, yeah," Benjamin said, nodding vigorously. "It has. I'm really sorry, I haven't been avoiding you."

"You _couldn't_," Chase said with a smirk. "Even if you wanted to. I would find you." Her tone was vaguely threatening. She knew she was letting her anger show, but she couldn't help it. She'd never in her life dealt with someone so inept. _He makes FDR look like employee of the year._ "So, tell me what you've been working on."

"Um," Benjamin said, his ears turning bright red. "Yeah. I, um – well – "

"This is not case-related," Chase said dryly, feeling her already high level of irritation mounting.

Benjamin blushed even deeper. "In a roundabout way, sort of. I just – I'm having a hard time with the jet lag. I'm not over it yet, and I've been sleeping and waking at really weird hours. Probably totally opposite of you. The past few times that you've called and stuff, I'd been sleeping." He finally met her eyes. "I'm sorry, Chase. It's sort of embarrassing to admit how much I've been struggling."

Chase blew an annoyed breath between her lips. All of this had been because of _jet lag?_ "Look," she said, a bit calmer now. "I get it. It can be a struggle, it really can, and this is your first case. _And_ you're your first time overseas. I understand, I really do. But you have _got_ to stop keeping things from me and you have _got_ to be more accountable. If you're sleeping, and I call, you need to let me know that later on, not let a whole fucking _week_ pass before I even hear from you. This isn't a field exercise, Benjamin, this is real-world and I've got to be able to depend on you. I have to know where you are and what you're doing and you need to keep me abreast of any developments. That is how it is done in this line of work. You _have _to do that, it's not a choice. Get it? _Do it._ Or else I'll kill you." She looked into his eyes intensely, not bothering to add that she was joking, because she wasn't entirely sure she was.

Benjamin didn't seem to know whether she was joking either, as he was nodding his head quickly with his eyes wide with fear. "I will do better," he promised. "I really will. This is all just kind of – overwhelming for me and it's taking longer than I thought to get used to."

"Sometimes you don't always have the luxury of having time to 'get used' to anything!" Chase exclaimed, then lowered her voice when the man behind the counter glanced over at them. "Sometimes you have to hit the ground running. It won't always be like _this_."

"Right, no, I totally get that," Benjamin said, flushing red again. "I just thought – since we _are _in a position where we have to take our time, that I could assimilate myself a little more slowly."

Chase wanted to slap him. "Well, you have the weekend to sleep," Chase said tightly. "That should help. Now, what have you heard this week?"

Benjamin shook his head vigorously and shrugged. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Why?"

"Really?" Chase demanded, leaning forward and pitching her voice even lower than it already was. "You didn't hear anything about how three more documents from Defense, Executive and Visa Services went missing?" She would be amazed if he hadn't – while the Embassy hadn't issued a full-scale announcement to its associates, she had heard employees murmuring about it all week since the first set went missing on Tuesday morning. _Everyone _was talking about it, and it was part of the reason why she had been so ardently trying to get a hold of him. It was happening again, and right under their noses.

"Oh, _that_," Benjamin said quickly. "I didn't know that's what you meant. Yeah, I heard some people talking about it."

"'Oh, _that'_?" Chase repeated incredulously. "'_That'_ is why we're here in the first place! You knew about this and you weren't trying to let me know?"

"I thought you would have heard about it, too," Benjamin replied, and he seemed genuinely confused. "Right?"

Chase shook her head and pressed her fingers to her temples, feeling like her head might explode. _That's it_, she thought. _I'm calling Collins and taking him off this case. This is bullshit. He's now become a liability. _

"Chase, I am really, really sorry," Benjamin said earnestly, leaning toward her. "I really am. I – I'm just a hacker. A glorified computer geek. I am on this case because they told me to go, because I need field experience. And as luck would have it, they paired me with you on this case. I know I'm out of my league here. I belong in a tech room, behind a desk, not out in the field. I really don't want to screw this up, and I don't want to let you or anyone else down. I promise you, I will do better."

Chase sighed heavily and looked into his pleading brown eyes. _At least he knows he's out of his league_, she thought grumpily. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through her nose. "Listen," she said calmly. "You _do_ need field experience. God, do you need it. You need to make sure that you are being as forthcoming with information as possible with me. Even if you think I might already know it, tell me anyway. You need to be accountable. You need to be available. You need to be _covert_. You need to be informative. Do you get me?"

"I get you," he said quickly. "I get you."

"If you and I have to have this conversation again, I will notify Collins that it is my very justifiable opinion that you be removed from this case," Chase added steadily. "If I feel that you are hindering this case or proving to be a liability to my safety and/or _yours _one more time, your ass is gone. Do you understand?"

Benjamin nodded again, his eyes going wide. "Roger, ma'am."

"All right. Listen, now that you know that documents are still going missing, it's time for you to do what you do best. I need you to try to break into the Embassy database and track down the trail the hacker left when they broke in. Can you do that?"

"I can certainly try," Benjamin said, a hint of doubt in his voice. "But, ma'am – um, Chase, if we're talking about someone who broke into the _Embassy's _database and took information, it's safe to assume that they knew precisely what they were doing and _didn't_ leave any trail."

"I get that," Chase said with a patience she didn't feel, "but I'm asking you to do it all the same. You never know. I would do it myself, but my hacking skills are just not sharp enough for what this would require. If I mess up, IT security is going to find out about it and track _me_ down and those are some questions I personally don't want to deal with. This has to be done _surgically._" She smirked at his fearful expression across the table and polished off the last of her chocolate croissant. "So, I need you to grow some balls, _doctor_, and handle this. You know what you're doing, and you know it well. I expect to hear something by the end of the weekend." She gave him a pointed look and rose. "I will talk to you later." She noticed that she had unintentionally placed emphasis on the word "will". "Have a good night. Make sure you get plenty of sleep."

"Yes, ma- Chase," Benjamin said. "Good night to you, too."

Chase nodded and pushed out of the café, sincerely hoping that Benjamin had taken heed to her warning. He was on his last thread, and he needed to make up for this week by delivering her _something_ by Sunday.

She thought of his wide-eyed, frightened expression and felt confident he'd received the message, loud and clear.

"Thin ice, pal," she muttered darkly to herself. "Very fucking thin ice."

* * *

The ride on the Metro back to Pigalle lulled Chase into a bit of a stupor. She slumped in her seat, feeling the week and also her own struggle with a little remaining jet lag wash over her in waves of sleepiness and physical tiredness. The steady thrum of the engine combined with the smooth ride made her want to drift off, but she knew that would be unbelievably stupid of her. Instead, she thought that she might draw a hot bath and soak for an extravagant amount of time, while listening to some soothing music and sipping a glass of wine. Then she'd have a little snack and perhaps watch a little television until she finally drifted off to sleep. She'd wake up in the middle of the night per her alarm to Skype with Tuck and then go back to sleep afterward.

When the Metro lurched to a halt at her stop, she tiredly hauled herself to her feet and hopped off the train, shouldering her bag. She tucked her scarf around her neck more securely and pulled her knit stocking cap a little further down her head as she walked along, moving through the crowded station with renewed purpose. Suddenly she felt like skipping the hot soak and just diving right into bed, with her wine and snack.

She shouldered her way through the heavy throng of people, keeping a hold on her bag in case there were pickpockets around her, just waiting for the opportunity to take advantage of some poor, unsuspecting tourist. She was forced to halt and wait for an opening in the crowd when it got too heavy with bodies, and she paused, tapping her foot as she waited.

Suddenly a searing pain shot through her side as something – _someone_ – barreled into her, and she was knocked off her feet, gasping in pain. She heard dismayed cries surrounding her as a couple of people gathered around her, and she turned her head sharply in the direction the body had gone, but she saw nothing but the crowd closing back up. Her hand went to her side, and when she pulled her fingers back, they were red.

She quickly closed her hand before anyone else could see and kept her arm firmly pressed to her side as she was helped to her feet by some of the people around her.

"Miss, are you all right?" several voices asked her in French, and she nodded, making words of thanks randomly as her body screamed at her to get home. She pulled herself away from the hands that held her, that steadied her, and pushed through the crowd once more, pain radiating through her body.

Luckily her flat was not far from the station, and she hurried toward it as fast as her legs would carry her. She reached her front door, and dug through her bag for her keys, cursing herself for not having them ready. She knew better.

She suddenly felt eyes on her and whirled around, pressing her back to the door as her eyes scanned the area quickly. But she saw no one suspicious, just passers-by on the street who didn't give her a second look. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched.

She whirled back toward the door and quickly unlocked it, pushing the door open just wide enough to admit her body before slamming it closed again and triple-checking to make sure it was locked. Then she made her way up the stairs, the pain she felt making it difficult, but she pushed through it. She reached her front door and again had the odd sensation she was being watched, but there was no one else on her floor in the hallway. She quickly let herself inside her flat and slammed the door, locking it and sliding the security chain up.

She immediately shed her coat and stumbled into the bathroom, yanking her bloody shirt up over her head. She winced as she took in the four-inch long cut on her side. It was deep, but not deep enough to cause any real damage, and not wide enough for stitches. It was a bad superficial cut that was bleeding profusely but would be fine with some basic first aid.

As she was cleaning herself up, her mind whirled as to who could possibly have attacked her. Random violence occurred in _all_ big cities, usually without reason. Perhaps the person had been trying to pickpocket her but had noticed her iron clasp on her shoulder bag and gotten frustrated. Perhaps it was an actual attempt at a pickpocket. She couldn't be sure, but something didn't set well with her.

She grabbed a hand mirror and held it right against her side to have a closer look. By her trained eye, the cut was exactly four inches in length, maybe give or take a centimeter. It was straight, not jagged, and it was almost perfectly parallel with the waistband of her pants. It felt…deliberate, methodical. _Precise_.

Her jaw clenched with stress and anger as she cleaned herself up and then placed a large bandage over her wound. It stung and the flesh around the cut ached from the trauma, but she knew as long as she kept it clean and covered in antibacterial ointment she would be fine. She sat down on the edge of the bathtub, pressing her temples with her fingers.

Had this been a pickpocket, the cut should be ragged, jagged; uneven. Clumsy. There probably would have been a need for stitches, for hospital care even. It would have been at an angle, probably, not perfectly horizontal. It would have been anything but precise.

This had been intentional.

She held a hand over the bandage and absently bit the knuckle of her other index finger as she realized the truth in her own thoughts. Someone had wanted to send her a message, let her know that things could have been much worse – that someone had _only_ just given her a little scratch. Someone was letting her know she could have died tonight – if they'd wanted her to.

After a moment she got off the edge of the bathtub and went out into the living room/foyer area where she had unceremoniously dropped her coat. She picked it up, seeing the slash through the side of the material, and the edges were stained with her blood. As she went to put the coat down, a soft crinkling noise met her ears, coming from one of the pockets.

Gingerly she reached inside and withdrew a neatly folded slip of paper. She swallowed, then unfolded it and read the handwritten note.

"_Was this surgical enough for you? The al-Fahsihds wanted me to tell you – stop shoving your nose where it doesn't belong. And it doesn't belong in any of the places you've been shoving it since you arrived. They don't believe that the climate of Paris is at all beneficial for you, so you should go home. –Love, Pierre Toussaint."_

_Pierre Toussaint. _"Bastard!"

Somehow, he had found out that she was in Paris and working on the al-Fahsihd case. She had no idea how that could be; Nichol Monaghan was still in CIA custody, and she hadn't had the pleasure of meeting any of his other playmates personally that night, as they'd all left before she'd thrown her knife into Nichol's back.

She re-read his note furiously, and then icy fear suddenly gripped her for an instant as his opening line jumped out at her.

"_Was this surgical enough for you?"_

_"__This has to be done surgically." _The words she had spoken to Benjamin not two hours ago echoed through her mind.

Someone was following her, monitoring her. Someone had been very close by while she had met with Benjamin. But how?

She had cased the place as soon as she had stepped foot in it to make sure she had selected the right location to meet in. And aside from the young man behind the counter, it had been empty. There had been no one else in the café except for her and Benjamin. Was the worker in on it? Had he had someone hiding in the kitchen or maybe ducking below the counter?

Despite the raging pain in her side, Chase began to pace uneasily as she thought. She needed to decide on what to do next. It was clear – she had been made. If she had been unsure before whether or not Ahmed al-Fahsihd had identified her, she could rest easy. He obviously had. And despite the fact that Pierre Toussaint had fled the Blarney Stone before he pieced together who she really was, he somehow knew too, and it was either him or one of his subordinates who had attacked her at the train station earlier.

Protocol demanded that she contact base, her director, and explain everything that had happened. She had been ID'd by the targets, they knew she was in-country, and were attacking her. The mission was wrapped as far as she was concerned – they would need to get other agents on the case at this point, because there was nothing else she could do while still maintaining the covertness of this case. She should be getting her phone, calling Collins, explaining the events, and getting booked for the next flight home.

Instead, she thought about the bomb threats, and the assassination plot. She thought of what would go into getting pulled off the case, not reporting to work at the Embassy without any notice, the confusion it would cause, and the hesitation on the part of the Embassy to hire anyone else. After _months_ of painstaking effort and labor, forged documents and a carefully crafted identity, she had been placed in the Embassy – in the _Defense Attaché, _for crying out loud. It would be next to impossible to get anyone else _that_ close to the operation of the global leaders' meeting. She was _in it_, and she was so close. She would not be able to forgive herself _or_ protocol if she followed it now and pulled herself off the case, and no one was able to get in where she had been to prevent lives from being taken.

She knew what she was supposed to do, what she had been trained to do.

And she ignored it.

_To hell with protocol_, she thought fiercely. _I can take care of myself. This was a good thing – now I know I'm being watched. Now I know how much more carefully to measure my steps. Sorry, assholes. You don't win that easily. You're not that good. _

She triple-checked the locks on her doors and windows, and went to bed, keeping her hand under the pillow where it gripped her loaded Glock tightly.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Whoa! It seems our little Chasey-Chase is pissing some of you off with her decisions! Listen. We love her for a reason, right? She just needs to come to terms with things on her own. Read on, and review! Things are about to pick up after this one...**

**Chapter 10**

"Dad! Is it time yet?"

Tuck glanced up from his laptop to where Joe was bouncing on his feet impatiently, and smiled at his son's excitement.

"Almost, son," he said, turning back to his laptop and clacking the keys. "Just trying to make the connection now. For some reason our WiFi doesn't want to cooperate with us tonight."

"What if we miss her?" Joe demanded worriedly. "What if our connection totally blows and we don't get to talk to her?"

"First of all, I don't appreciate you using the phrase 'totally blows' and I'm going to have to have a chat with your Uncle Frank, apparently," Tuck said in dismay. "Second, don't worry, Joe. We'll get to talk to her. Dad just needs to figure out what the issue is here…" He trailed off absently as he clacked at the keys a bit more, squinting at the screen. "Why don't you go make yourself a snack while I get us set up?"

Joe nodded agreeably and went into the kitchen, setting about to make himself a sandwich. Tuck went back to studying his screen. His WiFi signal was weak where he was now, so he got up off the stool he was sitting on and carried it around the living room area, waiting for his signal to increase in power. Normally he Skyped with Chase in bed, but somehow he didn't think that would be totally appropriate with his son around given the direction _those _particular chats tended to go in after a little while. His body stirred at the memory of their most recent such "chat" as warmth spread through him, concentrating itself in his groin area, and he shook it off quickly. "Bloody hell," he muttered to himself.

He finally found a WiFi sweet spot and sat down on the floor near the far wall and connected. He glanced at the time on the screen and noted that it would be about three in the morning her time. He'd been against waking her at such an atrocious hour, but she had insisted, wanting the chance to speak to Joe in between her hectic work schedule and before he went to visit his grandparents soon.

After a moment, a light finally turned on in her webcam screen and a tousled dark head popped into view. She looked exhausted, but Tuck couldn't help an enormous grin from splitting his face at the sight of her. _I miss her_, he thought ruefully for the umpteenth time.

"Hi, sweetheart," he said. "You quite awake over there?"

"Give me a minute," she said, her voice hoarse, and she leaned over to grab a glass off the nightstand and took a sip of water. She cleared her throat and rubbed her eyes, and Tuck could see some slim and dark peeking out from beneath her pillow.

"Your Glock?" he said quietly, not wanting to say the word "gun" in front of Joe. "Keeping it near at hand tonight?"

"You know I always sleep with it under my pillow when I'm not at home," she said.

"Under the pillow _next_ to you, not the one you sleep on," Tuck corrected, his instincts that something was off-kilter rising to the surface immediately.

Chase waved him off dismissively. "I miss you," she said sweetly, in that voice that could turn his insides to mush. "Where's Joe? What are you guys up to this evening?"

"I'm here!"

Joe trotted across the room, holding a plate upon which precariously teetered an enormous triple-decker peanut butter and banana sandwich. He plopped down next to his father and grinned brightly at the screen, holding up the plate.

"What have you got there?" Chase exclaimed.

"Look, Chase! It's your favorite. I named it the Chase Special."

"Wait a minute," she said suspiciously. "Hang on. I need to approve it before you can name it after me. It looks like a triple-decker. Right?"

"This isn't my first sandwich," Joe said loftily.

"Hey, I'm just being thorough, kid."

"She means _controlling_," Tuck whispered loudly to Joe, who snickered.

"Okay. Three pieces of bread. Peanut butter on all sides except the outside?"

"Yep," Joe said. "Except, listen to this. Before I put the peanut butter on, I _toasted_ the bread and then drizzled on the honey so it soaked in. _Then _I put on the peanut butter, _then _the banana slices, then the cinnamon and brown sugar, and then _another _drizzle of honey."

"The Chase Special it is," Chase said with an approving nod. "Well done, Squirt."

"When do I get to make you one in person?" Joe asked, his tone a little mournful. "You've been gone forever already."

"I've been gone like, a week," Chase corrected gently with a smile.

"Well, it _feels _like forever," Joe said, and Tuck couldn't have agreed more.

"I know, Squirt, but listen. I'll be back as soon as I can and then you can make me one of those amazing giant sandwiches, and we'll play video games and maybe we'll go to Disneyland again."

"Are you working on something really big?" Joe asked. "Are you kicking a lot of butt like Dad does?"

Chase and Tuck both laughed. "I am working on something big," Chase said. "But I haven't had to kick any butt yet."

"And that's a good thing," Tuck informed Joe firmly. "We want it to stay that way."

"Speak for yourself," Chase shot back saucily, pursing her lips before she smiled teasingly. Tuck smiled back but couldn't help studying Chase's face. Granted, it _was_ half past three in the morning where she was, and he _had_ woken her from a dead sleep, but there was something else underneath the smiling exterior. There was worry, and something like anxiety behind her eyes.

"So you're going to go hang out with your grandparents for a week, huh?" Chase asked Joe. Tuck watched as she shifted in bed, pulling the covers up to her armpits and leaning on her side. Instantly, she winced and straightened, leaning over to her other side.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately.

"What?" Chase said. "Oh, no. Nothing. I went for a jog the other day and somehow managed to pull a muscle in my side." She smirked wryly and patted her firm stomach. "All this rich French food is catching up with me, I guess. I'm getting out of shape."

Given that Tuck had seen her naked just a few days beforehand, he knew that was actually a load of bollocks. He _knew_ that wince. He had seen that wince one too many times for his personal appreciation. That was a wince of pain from an injury, to be sure, but not the one she was talking about.

"Well, Joe," he said lightly, clasping his son's shoulder. "Chase has got to get back to sleep and you've an enormous sandwich you need to eat. Tell her goodnight and goodbye."

"Goodnight," Joe said, smiling. "I miss you, Chase."

Chase smiled back, a little wistfully. "I miss you too, kid. Be good for your parents and your grandparents, okay? I'll see you soon."

"I will," Joe promised. "'Bye." Tuck patted his head and then scooped up the laptop.

"Well, I guess I'll let you go now, too," Chase said breezily. "You should really –"

"Not so fast," Tuck murmured, glancing at Joe. "You're not going anywhere. Stay put. Hey son," he called, "Dad's going upstairs for a moment to talk to Chase about some work stuff. You'll be okay here?"

"Yes, Dad," Joe replied, his mouth stuffed with sandwich. He turned the channel to a broadcast of Cars and settled in.

Tuck took the stairs two at a time until he reached the loft area, then plopped down on the couch. "What's going on, Chase?" he demanded. "What really happened?"

"Tuck!" Chase exclaimed. "What is _with you_ lately?"

Tuck glared at the way she averted her eyes. "You listen to me," he said sternly, keeping his voice low. "Give me a _little _bloody credit for knowing you. I _know_ you, sweetheart, I know when something isn't right and I know when you're keeping something from me. And you are. Is it the case?"

Chase sighed, and Tuck held his breath, waiting. Finally she leaned forward, her face very close to the camera on her laptop.

"John Tucker Hansen," she said quietly. "I'm telling you that I'm _fine_, all right? Listen. I'm just a little tired and stressed out with working at the Embassy. Thwarting a bomb threat and an assassination plot is a little harder than I gave it credit for." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "On top of that, I'm a little stressed out about our wedding."

"Why?" Tuck asked immediately. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not _there_," she said plaintively. "I'm supposed to be marrying you in less than two months and I'm not even there to _plan_ it."

"Don't worry about it, love," Tuck said, shaking his head. "Between Nana and Lauren and your sister even, they've got it under control. If we need to shift around the dates, that's what we do. All I care about is you coming home safe and marrying me." He shook his head. "I couldn't give a _monkey's_ if we have to do it right here in the living room. I just want to marry you, sweetheart."

Chase smiled tearily. "Look at what you've done," she scolded gently, gesturing to her face. "You've got me all weepy and shit. You know I don't cry."

Tuck tilted his head and smiled at her. "It's all right, darling. I won't tell anyone."

"Are we registered anywhere?" Chase asked, swiping the back of her hand across her cheeks.

"Yes, I believe Lauren took care of that the other day. She asked me if I would like to go with her but I figured she could handle it."

"Probably the wise choice," Chase said with a nod. "Her energy is frightening most of the time."

"Indeed it is. Anyway, my love, I don't want you to stress about the wedding. I am here, hopefully the most important facet of it all," Tuck said, grateful for the little grin he got in reply, "and I will wait for you for as long as it takes. All right?"

"All right," she replied, and smiled again. "I love you, Tuck. I don't deserve you."

"You might be right," he joked. "I love you too, sweetheart. How's little Benjy?"

Chase rolled her eyes automatically, then cleared her throat. "He's fine, I guess. Just – little things. I'm reminded each time I speak to him how much of a newbie he is."

"He's not doing anything to put you in harms' way, is he?" Tuck demanded.

"No, no," Chase said quickly. She waved her hand. "He's _fine_. He's just a little more work to babysit than I anticipated, is all."

That "something isn't right" feeling starting brewing again in Tuck's gut, but he didn't want to get Chase riled up. "If you say so, love. But now, you really do need to get back to sleep, don't you? Tomorrow's Saturday, but I have a feeling that means nothing in your newfound line of work. Or _Charlotte Hansen's_, that is." His lips twisted into a smirk. "I get the Hansen bit, darling, but _Charlotte_?"

"Well, I started thinking of our names together," Chase said. "Chase and Tuck. Chuck. And Chuck is usually a nickname for Charles. And Charlotte is sometimes regarded as the feminine version of Charles. So there you have it."

"Indeed," Tuck said with a grin. "Well, I appreciate the representation, no matter how ridiculously you came to it." He watched as Chase yawned hugely, covering her mouth with her fingers and shaking her head quickly. "All right, off to bed you go. Go on, sweetheart, go back to sleep. I'll be in touch. I love you."

"I love you too, Tuck," she said sleepily, smiling. "Give Joe a kiss for me. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Tuck echoed, and disconnected. For a moment he remained on the couch, thinking over their conversation, and he realized Chase had done it yet again – pulled him off the path of his suspicions and got him talking about something else entirely. _All it takes is her batting those long eyelashes and pouting that pretty mouth and I'm absolute putty in her bloody hands, _he thought wryly. Granted, he felt she was actually being honest about being stressed out about the wedding, but she had conveniently chosen to bring it up when his questions were getting a bit too warm for her. She was covering something, and she was not as fucking good at it as she thought she was.

He rose to his feet and began to pace, listening to Joe laugh at the movie in the living room below. He frowned as he paced, wondering what exactly was going on. Was it personal? Was she having second thoughts about them getting married? Had she found someone else in Paris?

He dismissed both thoughts as soon as they struck his brain. It was just missing her that made him feel fleetingly insecure. Chase loved him, he knew, and she wanted to marry him. There was just nothing in his gut that made him feel like it was because of him or another man that was making her act so strangely.

The only other thing it could reasonably be, he thought, was this case. Something had happened or was happening. As devoted and capable as Chase was, she was also a trouble magnet and had developed an extraordinary talent for pissing off the wrong people. He thought back to their first case together, the Koslov/Andrei case. Somehow, Andrei had ID'd her early on and had nearly succeeded in killing her. Was her life being threatened by someone?

He couldn't see how. They still had Monaghan tucked away, closed off from the outside world, and neither Toussaint nor any of his other bodyguards had been in the bar when Chase had thrown her knife, essentially revealing that she was a little more than some bar floozy. As far as Tuck knew, the al-Fahsihds certainly hadn't made her, as she hadn't gone anywhere in order for them to do so, beyond the Embassy.

Unless she _had_ gone somewhere, or they had someone in the Embassy watching her.

Tuck's frown turned into a scowl at the thought. Being that there was a stateside rat who was feeding Toussaint his information that he was feeding back to the al-Fahsihds, there was no reason to believe said rat hadn't followed them to Paris, or that there wasn't _another_ player in this highly dangerous game. He couldn't quite piece it all together, not having all the facts, but something did not smell right.

In fact something, as the ancient bard had once so eloquently stated, was most certainly rotten in Denmark.

_Or Paris, in this case_, Tuck thought wryly.

Fortunately, Tuck had a list a mile long of various contacts, snitches, and informants, some of whom were attached to this case since they had supplied the information to begin with. Tomorrow morning, he would be making some phone calls. And the next time that he and Chase spoke, hopefully he'd have some information of his own to share with her to get her to crack. He hated having to think of her in that light, as a suspect he was interrogating, but her behavior was worrisome, and if she needed help or to be pulled _off_ the case entirely, she was going to tell him whether she liked it or not.

But for now, he needed to spend some quality time with his son, so he turned off his laptop and headed down the stairs.

* * *

"You gonna stay out here forever?"

FDR poked his out of the backdoor of the newly purchased home he shared with Lauren, where Tuck was sitting in a patio chair, checking his phone. Since he had put the word out early this morning that he needed any and all available information regarding the al-Fahsihd case, he had received an almost nonstop barrage of calls, emails and texts.

FDR had invited him and Joe, as well as Trish and Bob and their boys, over to his and Lauren's house for a little afternoon cookout. Currently, everyone was indoors, eating the delicious late lunch, except for Tuck, who had gone outside to check an email, and then had gotten a phone call, followed by another phone call, followed by an email.

"What?" Tuck glanced up. "Oh, yeah. Sorry, mate. Just got caught up checking on something."

"Intel related to the al-Fahsihd case?" FDR asked a little smugly.

Tuck frowned. "And how in the bloody hell do you know about _that_?"

"Come on, man, we're partners. I know the same people you do. I've been copied on some of the same emails you've been receiving, if you hadn't noticed. People know we work together, and apparently assumed this was a joint effort."

Tuck actually _hadn't_ noticed that FDR had been copied; he'd been far too intent on reading the information he'd received.

"So, what's up?" FDR stepped out onto the patio and shut the door behind him. "Making sure Chase is doing her job right? I'm sure she'd just absolutely adore that."

"No," Tuck replied, sighing heavily. "I was trying to make sure she was being honest with me. The last several times I've talked with her – well, since she arrived in Paris, really – she's seemed like something has been bothering her. Like she's worried about something, she's distracted, I don't know. But I do know that something's wrong, mate, and it's not because of jet lag or wedding issues or whatever other rubbish she's been spewing at me every time I ask." He shook his head. "She's lying to me."

"What about her partner, little Benjy Buttons?" FDR asked sarcastically.

"I don't know," Tuck said with a shrug. "I ask her about him, and she says the same thing – 'he's _fine_, Tuck!'"

"So what have you unearthed today?" FDR asked, nodding toward the phone in Tuck's hand.

"Nothing much that I don't already know," Tuck admitted glumly. "Nothing new or of any real interest." His phone suddenly chirped, signaling the arrival of a new email. He opened it and read the first few lines, his face changing. "Oh, _hello_." He silently skimmed the rest of it, rage beginning to fill him. "Bloody hell!"

FDR pulled his phone out of his pocket. "What? What is it?"

"Just me on this one, mate," Tuck replied, then showed FDR his phone.

"'Pierre Toussaint spotted in Paris'," FDR read aloud, then gave Tuck a dirty look. "No shit, Sherlock. We already knew he was back."

"Keep reading," Tuck said patiently. "I'm not a bloody idiot."

FDR shook his head and glanced back down at the phone. "'Toussaint ordered attack on female operative at Metro station yesterday'." He looked up. "Attacked? Chase was attacked?"

"She didn't say that," Tuck said. "I just spoke to her last night."

"How did she look?"

"Fine, except for she was favoring one side of her body." He gestured to his side. "She was acting as though this bit over here was hurt."

"Let me guess," FDR said dryly. "She didn't tell you the truth."

"Of course not," Tuck muttered bitterly. _Attacked?_ Someone had _attacked _her at Pierre Toussaint's bidding, and she had covered it up, right in front of him?

FDR glanced down at the screen again. "It says here that Toussaint was spotted recently with Jamal al-Fahsihd and an unidentified white male two days ago." He glanced up. "_Another _player in this fucked up game?"

"Apparently so," Tuck said. "I've got to warn Chase. I'm going to confront her with this and see if she'll come clean to me finally. I'm angry that she's been lying to me, but I'm not sure she knows this information." He threw up his hands. "I don't know _what_ she knows. But at least this way she'll know that _I _know and then maybe she'll come clean about everything _she_ knows and then I'll know whether to have her pulled off the case."

FDR was staring at him with a glazed expression, but he came back to earth at the last part. "Pulled _off_ the case, man?" he exclaimed. "If you tell Collins, she will _never_ forgive you!"

"If she gets killed, mate," Tuck said quietly, "I will never forgive _her._"

FDR sighed. "Touché," he said. He winced. "Still…that is just a conversation I would never want to have with that woman in particular."

"That's because she can kick _your_ ass," Tuck said, grabbing his phone out of FDR's hand and shoving it into his pocket.

FDR looked shocked. "So!" he exclaimed. "She can kick _yours_, too!"

"Everything all right out here?" Lauren poked her head out suddenly and Tuck and FDR snapped their heads toward her, Tuck feeling very much like a naughty child who'd been caught doing something wrong by his mother.

"Just fine, baby," FDR replied. "Just having a man-share moment."

"Uh-huh," Lauren replied suspiciously. "Well, you're both being rude. Can you come in and eat at the table with the rest of us like civilized humans, please?"

"Sure," Tuck replied, discreetly throwing an elbow hard into FDR's side when Lauren disappeared back into the house. He gave it back, and then slung his arm around Tuck's shoulders.

"Listen, man," FDR said sincerely. "Try not to be too hard on her. I know you're pissed at her for lying to you and withholding information, but at the end of the day try to see it from her perspective. She's probably just wanting to protect your feelings. You know? She doesn't want to get you all worked up because you can be pretty overprotective of her sometimes. And maybe, she doesn't want to risk you going to Collins and taking her off a case prematurely."

"_Prematurely_, Franklin?" Tuck repeated. "That email said she was _attacked_ yesterday, mate."

"That email was from a source who could be wrong," FDR countered. "Or maybe it wasn't her. You know, the FBI is over there, too."

"I feel it," Tuck said, shaking his head. "I know it was her."

FDR sighed. "Just – be nice later, okay?" he said. "I mean, she's five thousand miles away. In a different time zone. You barely get to speak as it is – don't make a big deal out of this and ruin the little bit of a connection that you _do_ have."

Tuck stared at him in mock-awe. "Love lessons from Franklin Foster," he said. "Who would have ever thought?"

"Hey, I'm sensitive, man," FDR insisted. "I understand the matters of the heart."

"Sure," Tuck replied. "Listen. Thank you for the advice, and I will do my best to employ it because I see your point. However, I am _fucking pissed_ at her and she's going to know _that_, too."

* * *

Chase felt an unbearable sense of foreboding and loneliness all day, for some reason she could not identify.

She'd woken up with it, heavy in her heart and in the pit of her stomach. She had intended to go for a jog that morning, but she found she couldn't get out of bed. Instead, she'd lain on her good side, curled into a ball, staring out at the gray, wintry sky and just thought.

She hated lying to Tuck. He was the last person on earth she should be lying to, and she had done so in varying degrees each day since she'd arrived. He was only concerned for her safety, but she'd viewed him almost as an opponent, someone who would get in her way and prevent her from completing her mission if she shared what had really been going on.

_When did he become the enemy to you?_ she wondered in confusion. _He's not, he never was, and he never will be. You are so dead set on completing this mission that you haven't stopped to think about the repercussions. It's not just _you_ anymore, Moreno._

That was part of the problem. For so long, before she'd met Tuck, she had been so used to being a one-woman show. She had family, yes, but it had just always been _her_ – no one else to worry about, no one to consider, no one to hinder her. And things had been fine that way – she had lived like that for a long time.

But since she had met, fallen in love with, and agreed to marry Tuck, things were entirely different, and carrying out missions in the old ways no longer made her feel good about herself, or accomplished, or in control. She felt completely _out_ of control.

Aside from the fact that Tuck was her lover, her best friend, and her partner in life, he was also a skilled and trained professional in the same line of work she was in. Therefore, he would understand what she was going through, he would have insight, and if nothing else, he would know what she should do, since she seemed to be having trouble making the right decisions on her own these days. And if part of his solution involved contacting Collins, well – so be it. As much as it gave her heartburn to think of all her work going down the drain, Chase had to accept two things: one, she was not the only skilled operative in the CIA capable of handling such a case. She was _damn good,_ that was for certain,but she wasn't the only one. And the FBI had enough information at this point to be on extra-high alert in the next couple weeks, when the meeting would take place. Without her, they wouldn't know the exact date which would make things tricky, but they had a decent idea. And two, she had bigger things to live for these days. While her career had once been her entire life, now it was just that – a career. Her life was Tuck, and Joe, and her family, and the family she wanted them to have together. _That_ was her life.

For a moment, she pictured Tuck's reaction if he received news that she had been killed in the line of duty, all because she had been reckless and selfish and thoughtless and proud. And she pictured his face, and _felt_ his heart breaking, and it made tears come to her eyes.

She would be _goddamned_ if she ever put him through something like that when she _knowingly_ withheld information from him that the simple act of sharing might have kept her alive. Death was a possibility in their line of work, but if it was going to come, it should only come because they were caught completely unawares. Not because they acted foolishly or selfishly – like she was.

Chase swallowed and reached up to wipe the tears she hadn't even realized were falling off her face. She had to tell him. She just had to.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

She spent the day huddled in her bed, watching mindless French television even though she knew she should be working. But the thought of working on this case, that had inspired her to be so dishonest and untrusting and secretive, made her sick. So she snacked and drank and stayed where she was as she waited for night to fall, bringing her closer to the appointed hour that she and Tuck would be Skyping. Eventually she fell asleep, since that hour was not going to be until about two in the morning her time. He hated connecting so late with her, but she always insisted because she wanted every opportunity to talk to him.

She set her alarm for fifteen minutes before two, to give herself plenty of time to freshen up so she wouldn't look like a zombie. When it went off, she got up and padded into the bathroom, splashing water on her face and running a brush through her wavy hair. She brushed her teeth as well, knowing it was silly and unnecessary but doing it anyway, then checked the little wound in her side.

It was beginning to heal, she could see, and she had been religious and careful about keeping it clean and covered. The antibacterial ointment she applied also helped lessen the stinging pain and the ache of the flesh surrounding it.

The flat was chilly, so she slipped on a pair of thick, ribbed gray leggings and a long length, long sleeve white thermal shirt. She added a bra as well, not wanting to run the awkward risk of Joe being on the call and getting an eyeful of her. She added a pair of thick suede flat boots lined with shearling and wrapped herself in an oversized, heavy gray cardigan. She turned on her laptop and waited for the call to connect, the loneliness and foreboding threatening to tear her apart.

After a moment, it clicked on and Tuck's stormy face filled the screen. He looked pissed, and Chase couldn't be sure why, but the sight of his beautiful face, with his large pewter eyes, his scarred eyebrow, his stubbly beard, his straight nose and his gorgeous, full lips, made her heart soar and her stomach drop at the same time. A dreadfully empty pang of loneliness hit her like a punch to the gut and she couldn't keep the mournful note out of her voice.

"Hi, baby."

His entire expression changed at the sad sound of her small voice. "Chase, sweetheart? What's wrong, my love? Why do you sound so sad?"

Chase eyed him through the screen. He wore her favorite cranberry colored V-neck sweater over a light blue button up, and his hair was slightly tousled with just a tiny bit of gel. She'd always thought of him as one of the best-looking men on the planet, but the sight of him now made her heart beat faster, as though she were re-developing a crush on her own fiancé. He was so heart-stoppingly handsome, _and_ he loved her _and _he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her? How had she gotten so lucky?

"You look great," she went on, unable to change the tone of her voice. "Did you have fun at FDR's and Lauren's?"

"Fun, yes, it was fine," he said dismissively. "But, baby, I'm worried about you. Chase, love, why do you sound that way?"

Her throat tightened at the way his voice sounded – concerned, full of love. "I just miss you, is all," she whispered.

"I miss you too, sweetheart," he said. He sighed. "I intended to be a little upset _with_ you on this call, but you're making it very difficult."

Chase had a good idea of why he would be upset with her. He'd been suspicious of her behavior since she'd arrived in Paris – a testament to how sharp his people radar was and also how well he knew her. And whatever anger he'd harbored had apparently come to a head, and she knew she deserved it. But she felt so heartsick that she was fairly certain she wouldn't be able to handle it if he chose to really unleash on her.

"I know you're mad at me," she said softly. "And really, you have every right to be."

"I do?" Tuck asked, a little sternly. "What haven't you been telling me, Chase? Because I know something is going on with this case."

Chase nodded miserably. "Yes. There is. You're right," she admitted. Suddenly she heard what sounded like a voice calling out from deep in the building and jumped a little. She shook her head and turned back to the screen. It was Saturday night, after all; if last weekend had been anything to go by, tonight was turning out to be pretty tame.

"Everything all right?" Tuck asked. "I heard that, too."

Chase nodded. "Pretty sure it was just some night owls coming home from partying," she said. "They were at it last weekend, too."

"You were saying, love?" Tuck said, and Chase was happy to hear his voice had softened. Tuck was a reasonable man; even though he had every right to be angry with her, he wasn't going to rub her face in the fact that he was right and she was wrong. He made her feel safe enough to admit her mistakes and come clean, and she loved him for that.

Chase took a deep breath. "All right. From the minute I got on that flight in LA, Benjamin has been making me feel…" She pursed her lips and tilted her head from side to side in thought. "Uncomfortable. And I don't really know why. He didn't do anything wrong then, and he hasn't _really_ done anything wrong now."

Tuck immediately caught the emphasis on the word "really" and lifted his scarred eyebrow. "What _has_ he done?" he asked, his deep, rich voice rumbling out through the speakers of her laptop.

"Well, to start with, on Monday morning as we were nearing the Embassy, he called out my name," Chase said. "In public. Out loud. And called me 'Agent'."

"Christ," Tuck said, dismayed. "I thought you two weren't supposed to know each other? And _'Agent'_? Really?" He swiped a hand over his face and shook his head. "Did anyone hear him?"

"I don't think so," Chase said, somewhat hesitantly.

"You don't _think_ so?"

Chase swallowed. "I can't be sure," she confessed, "but I don't think so."

"Bollocks," Tuck said, shaking his head again. "What else?"

"The global leaders' meeting got moved from this past week to next week," Chase said, "and Benjamin seemed very interested in that. I don't know the exact date yet, but I just have this feeling that –" She broke off again, her head turning automatically in the direction of another strange vocalization from somewhere far-off in the building.

"Love," Tuck said. "What is it?"

"They must really be going hard tonight," Chase murmured, turning back to face him. "Anyway, so then all week he ignores my calls, my texts, my emails to get together. I gave him an assignment, first of all, which was to get me a list of every person working at the Embassy. We determined there's another rat in the building besides the one that was stateside here and feeding Toussaint his info while he was in LA. Anyway, I needed him to get me that list and then _boom!"_ Chase clapped her hands to emphasize her point. "Three – _three! _ – top secret documents from my department, the Executive office and Visa Services get pulled. The hacker breached the IT security alarms but didn't leave a trace."

"Are you thinking the rat and the hacker are the same person?" Tuck asked. That was what he was thinking.

"I believe so, yes," Chase said with a nod. "Although, that's not a guarantee. And if there's a fifth person, Jesus – " She gripped her temples between her fingers. "Cluster fuck."

It was starting to feel really good to open up to Tuck about all of this, Chase realized. She kicked herself mentally for not doing it sooner, then realized there were still a few pieces to the story – namely, being attacked last night and the small part where Ahmed al-Fahsihd had more than likely ID'd her – that she hadn't gotten around to sharing quite yet. Those would be the hardest parts to share, and the ones she was the most reluctant to share, anticipating Tuck's reaction.

"So, anyway," she continued on quickly, "I arrange a meeting at a remote café with Benjamin last night. And he shows up almost forty-five minutes late saying he's been busy with 'stuff' which turns out to be sleeping and trying to get over his jetlag. Then, because I haven't heard from him all week, I assume he somehow has _not _heard about the document security breach so I inform him, and come to find out he _knew _this and he didn't tell me because he '_assumed'_ I already knew as well!" She rolled her eyes. "Obviously I did, but still."

"That is not the point," Tuck said, sounding and looking highly irritated, and Chase knew that it was not aimed at her. "I don't like the sound of this, Chase. This kid is sounding more and more like a liability to your safety and I'm just not okay with that. At all."

_Wait'll you hear the other things I have to confess_, she thought ruefully. "I know, I know, Tuck. Listen. I felt the same way and for an instant I thought I would call Collins and send Benjamin home."

"Good call," Tuck said brusquely.

"I said I _thought_ about it. But I just think back to my first mission in the field, and how much I fucked up, and how the senior agent wouldn't give up on me." She shrugged. "I guess I feel like I need to pay that forward, that chance. I really feel like Benjamin just needs a chance to prove himself."

"Sweetheart, are you bloody fucking mad?" Tuck demanded.

"No, Tuck," Chase said insistently. "I'm not. Trust me, I'm pretty sure I put the fear of God into that kid." The sounds of another small commotion met her ears again suddenly, but this time she ignored it. She made a face. "I might have accidentally threatened to kill him."

Tuck allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of his full lips. "Accidentally?"

"Okay. I knew exactly what I was doing." She met his eyes and smiled. Then she sighed inwardly. _The moment of truth has arrived_, she thought. But before she could say anything, he spoke first.

"Listen, sweetheart, I just want to let you know that I appreciate you telling me this," he said sincerely. "I know you, and I know how devoted to your job you are, and how good at it you are, and how capable you are. And I know that you hate it when things go slightly awry. I also know that you can't stand having to turn to anyone for help or to appear that you are inept at your job, which you should know is laughable. I've told you before that I think you're the best operative at our field office, and one of the best I've personally ever met."

Chase flushed under his sincere praise, and felt her guilt rising even higher in her throat. _I've got to stop him there,_ she thought. _I don't even deserve to hear the rest of this._

"Basically, what I'm trying to say is, I know this was hard for you," Tuck went on gently. "And I appreciate you being honest with me."

"Tuck, I'm sorry I lied," Chase said. "I really am. I just – I just hate feeling like I don't have control over the situation. But there's something –"

"I know, babe, it's forgotten," Tuck said, waving his hand. "It's forgotten. But just listen to me for a moment. Because I was concerned about you, I had to do some research of my own. I contacted our informants, the ones who have been working on this case, to get some updates on the chatter about the al-Fahsihds. And you were right about there being another player. Toussaint was spotted out very recently with Jamal al-Fahsihd and another man, who the informant was not able to identify. Someone they'd never seen before."

This was _news_ to her, though it was unsurprising. "I know that Toussaint is their lapdog, but I didn't have confirmation on the unidentified person before." Could that be the one who had attacked her last night? She bit her lip.

"Listen, Tuck, that's not everything I have to tell you," she said sadly. "There's – there's more. It's bad."

He met her gaze through the screen evenly. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the report about the 'female operative' who got attacked at the Metro station last night, would it?"

She blinked in surprise. "You know about that?" His informant was exceptionally thorough.

"Yes. I was told that the order came from Toussaint himself." That meant it had likely _not _been Toussaint who attacked her; that was also unsurprising. He wasn't really the type to get his hands dirty. "Chase, was it you? I know that the FBI has agents in Paris right now, too, waiting on the date change for the meeting to handle that accordingly. But my gut, darling, tells me that you were the one who got attacked."

Chase stared at him glumly, then sighed. She opened her mouth to tell him, to tell him everything from Ahmed al-Fahsihd eyeing her, to the attack, the feeling of being followed home, and the note she had found, when another sound of a commotion met her ears, and this time it was much closer. Right outside her door.

She growled in frustration, looking over her shoulder. She turned back. "Tuck, can you hang on?" she said. "I need to tell these assholes to keep it down. There _are_ other people in this building."

"Yes, love," Tuck said.

Chase slipped off her bed and crept through the flat to the front door. She peered through the peephole, but she couldn't see anything. She unlocked each of her locks and unlatched the security chain, leaning out in the hallway. She looked right and left, but there was no one there. Moreover, there was no sign that anyone was even around. She wasn't sure how that could be possible, given that she had _just_ heard someone or several someones making noise right outside her door, and now there wasn't even so much as a peep echoing down the hall.

She shook her head and shut the door, relocking and relatching it, and walked back through the flat to her bedroom. She pulled her cardigan closer around her body and got back into bed.

"Who was there, sweetheart?" Tuck asked immediately when she got settled.

"No one, apparently," Chase replied a little irritably. She had sort of been looking forward to administering a good ass-chewing, especially in French. It was such a snooty language that was perfect for delivering insults.

"That's odd."

"Yes, and annoying," Chase said. She took a deep breath. "Listen, Tuck, about the attack. Yeah. That was me. Someone shoved me and knifed me in the side, a superficial cut but it bled a lot just the same. The thing is, it was a message. Someone had been listening to me talk to Benjamin in the café because they put a note in my pocket referencing something I'd said. And it was signed Pierre Toussaint, telling me to get out of the city." She paused for breath, having talked as fast as she could to not give Tuck a chance to cut in and yell at her. She glanced at his face, expecting to see him enraged, but for some reason, he just had a confused look on his face. His mouth was moving, but she couldn't hear him.

"Tuck?" she said tentatively. He didn't appear to respond to hearing his name, as his mouth was still moving silently, probably saying her name as well and asking if she could hear him. "Tuck?" This time she waved at the screen, and noted the way he didn't react at all. Apparently he couldn't see or hear her.

_Great,_ she thought, perturbed. She would have to spill her guts a _second _time. She reached out to disconnect their distorted call, intending to reconnect immediately with hopefully a better signal. She might need to move locations; she noticed hers was weak.

She had just powered her laptop off when she heard the slightest, tiniest tinkling sound – the telltale of just-shattering glass on the wooden floor of her living room.

She froze, and in the nanosecond it took her mind to understand what was happening, her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach.

* * *

Tuck, despite his best efforts to listen to FDR's advice, couldn't help his growing anger throughout the remainder of the meal. He covered it well, of course, refusing to let on that anything was amiss between him and Chase, except for what FDR already knew. But even with FDR, he left it alone, and he knew that his best friend took that as a signal that he had internalized the advice given to make nice with Chase given their distance and their inability to talk as frequently as possible.

Lauren had told him all about the things she had registered for them for the wedding, and most of it went in one ear and out the other. He picked up on a few items that he knew Chase would like – like a new stainless steel cooking set, a set of nice, sharp kitchen knives and a few other things. He made the right responses, and even engaged Trish in some playful banter about the wedding night, which she thoughtfully managed to couch in coded terms so the children wouldn't pick up on it. Although, Joe was bright enough to catch many things these days that caught Tuck off guard; the chances that perhaps he decoded some of the things mentioned were relatively high. He reckoned he'd be finding out sooner rather than later.

And on the way back to the loft, Joe had chirped along happily about the sorts of things he planned to do with Grandma and Grandpop when he left next week, and whether they would let him stay up late even though Katie had said that he couldn't, and if Chase would come home while he was gone and if so that it would be a nice surprise for him to come back home to. Tuck nodded and smiled and carried on the conversation with his son.

All the while, he seethed.

He couldn't quite pinpoint the fuse for his anger. It was more than just the act of being lied to or treated like he was dumb, although admittedly that was part of it. It was moreso that it was _Chase_ being dishonest with him – that burned in his veins. He knew that he could still trust her and rely on her, but it was hard to stomach the thought that she felt that it was acceptable for her to do so. Did _she_ not trust _him_?

It was with this carefully concealed seething anger that he had set Joe on the couch with another movie, the Karate Kid remake with Will Smith's son, and told him he would be right back. He had jabbed in the password for his laptop, angrily brought up the Skype application, and stabbed the keys to bring her up on the screen.

_I'd love to see how she tries to lie her way out of this,_ he thought, his cataloged arsenal of newly uncovered information at the ready. He couldn't wait, _couldn't wait_ to fling the tiny little bit about the operative getting attacked at her and see, just _see_ what she said.

And when her face appeared in the screen, her beautiful, dear, sweet, sad, forlorn face, every ounce of anger trickled out of him like air from a deflated balloon and his heart went out to her instantly.

"Hi, baby."

Her sweet voice, normally so sassy and cheeky and full of sarcastic jabs and quips, sounded heartbroken and like she'd lost her best friend in the whole wide world. Or her lover.

_But that's impossible because I'm right here_, he thought fiercely. And it was all over from there.

As he listened to her talk, he found himself feeling suddenly calm, and almost a little bad for how angry with her he'd been. As she came clean about the feelings of unease she'd been harboring for Benjamin, he had a moment of clarity to where he truly understood who she was and how she was, and that she had honestly meant no malice by her actions. He understood, and his understanding made it impossible for him to be angry with her.

He brought up the attack in the station, but it was with far less gusto, and absolutely none of the planned ridicule, than he had meant to bring it up with before. Before she could answer, she had to get up to investigate the annoying racket that had been going on through nearly their entire conversation. When she finally made it back from that, he settled in, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it from her mouth.

But then there was no sound coming from her mouth.

For a moment, he saw her face and her mouth moving as she seemed to be speaking rapidly, but the sound was gone. And an instant later, so was her face. He jabbed buttons, and checked his signal. Surprisingly, it was strong. He jabbed at more buttons, confusion filling him, and a moment later, the connection ended.

He tried to bring it back up, dialing and redialing through the application, but it was to no avail. He sighed, finally giving up. He went downstairs and settled down next to Joe on the couch, feeling strangely unsettled.

"Can I talk to Chase, Dad?" he asked.

"I lost the call, son, I'm sorry," he said, ruffling his son's hair. "We'll try her a bit later, all right? Maybe when she has gotten up in the morning. It'll still be about ten or so here. Is that okay?"

"Sure, dad," Joe replied, and settled in next to his father as they continued to watch the movie.

Tuck tried to relax, chalking it up to a bad connection. It was overseas, after all; these things tended to happen. It was perfectly logical.

What wasn't logical, however, was the sick feeling he felt, deep in his gut, like he'd just been stabbed.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hello friends. Read this, and then review. Thanks! Besos.**

**Chapter 12**

"_Shit."_

The breathy expletive slipped between Chase's lips hardly without her notice as she sat very still on her bed, listening to the sounds coming from the living room. Whoever was breaking in was obviously trying to be stealthy. She heard the sound of boots trying to be quiet on wood floors, and she heard whispering in Farsi.

_Al-Fahsihds come calling, how unexpected. I should go put the cheese and crackers out._

She strained an ear toward the door, trying to make out the sounds and their words. There were more than two of them – probably more like four or five, even. She couldn't quite make out their whispers exactly but she understood the gist to be that they were definitely here to pay her a special little visit, and this was not some random crime of robbery. She heard several pairs of boots creeping quietly toward her door, obviously trying to be silent and failing. She heard more whispers that directed the group to get ready.

_Who are these clowns? Do they not know I can hear them?_

In the next instant she was grabbing her Glock from under her pillow, sliding noiselessly to the floor like she had no bones in her body, and scuttling backwards to take cover as far from her door as she could get, which happened to be the foot of the bed.

Chase knew she was pretty much fucked. The small bedroom had no outlets, and hardly anywhere to hide. The only way out of the flat was through the living room, and she was effectively cut off from it. She was likely fucked, and she might even be dead, but she would be goddamned if she went down without one hell of a vicious fight.

She set up what was referred to as a "fatal funnel" and propped her arms on the edge of the bed, her gun pointed at the door. If she was going down, she was going to take a few of these bastards with her. The first two through the door, for sure.

As she waited for the door to open, Chase took a few deep breaths to calm her swiftly throbbing pulse, swallowing down the nerves punching through her stomach. She needed to stay calm and focus; she needed to detach. She mentally withdrew from her body, silencing her thoughts, her fears, and her mind, and just let her body take over. She breathed in and out slowly, her eyes focused sharply on the door, her left hand wrapped around the front of her right hand, her index finger on the trigger and starting to squeeze, not pull.

When the door was kicked in a moment later, she squeezed the trigger back all the way, instantly drawing bead on the chest of the first dark shape she saw. Even as that body dropped her eyes were finding their next target and her gun moved toward it, and her finger squeezed again. The explosions were deafening, but somehow she didn't hear them. She understood on a primal, basic level that the men were shouting, but she couldn't hear them either.

When a searing pain tore through her left forearm and her gun went flying, she didn't make a sound. She registered on that same base, primal level that her gun had been shot out of her hand and the bullet had skimmed her arm. All she was aware of was her own breathing as she launched herself forward, leaping over the bed toward the attackers.

She heard them shouting, felt hands grabbing at her, and she viciously lashed out. The heel of her hand shoved up hard and fast right into the middle of a faceless face. Her leg shot out in a powerful back-kick, right into a soft, pliable gut. Her fists, like small hard rocks, punched jaws and noses, broke bones, knocked the wind out of these assailants when they hit stomachs and lungs and kidneys. The sides of her flattened hands were like knives, chopping forcefully into windpipes and against temples.

Slowly, slowly, she was coming back to her conscious self now; she could no longer just act off of muscle reflex and instinct – she needed her mind to guide her as well as her body. In a flash her conscious mind awoke and she saw that two of the men were down, possibly dead, and three more were on her. She was in her doorway with one man inside her bedroom and two in the living room.

She was bleeding profusely from the wound on her forearm, and it stung like a _bitch_, but she couldn't do anything about it now. She couldn't do anything but _fight_ right now.

The man in her bedroom had her in a headlock, her hair gripped tightly in his fist as his other forearm wrapped around her throat. She struggled to stay conscious as she listened to the other two men speak in a broken mixture of Farsi and French. They told him to make sure she stayed alive, that the orders were she was to be brought back alive.

_You're not _bringing_ me anywhere._

She twisted in his hold, but his arm was like a vise, and he was pressing up on her throat, cutting off her air supply. She started to panic, clawing at his arms with her nails as black spots danced in front of her eyes.

She glanced down and saw that the man who was choking her had a knife sheathed in a holster around his thigh. She reached down blindly and grabbed the hilt, yanking it free and then stabbing him brutally in the side with it. He instantly let her go and she dropped to the floor, choking and gagging as the man howled reeled away into the wall, gripping his side.

The man just on the other side of the doorway stepped near her, and Chase hurled herself toward him, lowering her head and crashing right into his gut. She tackled him and they went sprawling across the slick living room floor. She maneuvered herself on top of him and began raining blows down on his head, using her knees to pin his arms to the ground. The third man stalked toward her, reaching out to grab her and instead she quickly grabbed his hand and broke three fingers before shoving him away.

The man beneath her managed to shove her over onto her side as the one whose fingers she'd just broken joined in with the stabbed man's howls. He started cursing her in Farsi as he swung his fists at her head. Chase scrabbled backwards smoothly, ducking each swing with a bob of her head until she got back far enough to get on her feet. She grabbed a vase off the little table next to the sofa and hurled it violently at his face. He turned his head at the last second but the vase made a sickening cracking noise as it connected with his cheekbone. She wasn't sure if it shattered on his face or when it hit the ground an instant later, or if the cracking noise was from the vase or his face.

With the three men each incapacitated to some degree, she whirled on the balls of her feet and yanked open the patio door of the flat. Without thinking she grabbed the sides of wrought iron enclosure and threw herself over the side of it. She caught the side of the fire escape below on the way down and swung herself up over it, then leapt onto the ladder. The force of her leap caused it to shoot downward to the ground and Chase held on for dear life as it fell. When it was six feet above the ground, she jumped off, landing with her butt out and knees bent to absorb the shock, and took off at a dead run down the dark street.

It was Saturday night in Pigalle, and even though it was close to three a.m., and the bohemian, artsy, funky district was still lively near the section with the nightclubs and bars. She ran toward it, knowing she'd be much safer in a crowd than on her own.

She pumped her legs and arms for speed, not risking the seconds it would take to check to see if she were being chased. She turned her body swiftly to the side to take a shortcut through an alleyway – the fastest conduit to the nightlife sector of town, and suddenly the squeal of tires met her ears.

She skidded to a halt as a van roared to a stop at the lip of the alley, cutting her off from her route, and before the door was wrenched open she turned and ran back the way she came. She had just reached the alley entrance when another vehicle, a black SUV with thickly tinted windows, pulled up out of nowhere in front of her. She was trapped.

"_Mademoiselle _Moreno," a smooth, low voice called, and she glanced up warily as a tall, well-dressed man climbed out of the backseat of the SUV. He was dressed to kill in a designer suit, and a flash of recognition went through her as she met his gaze and took in his ear. "_Bon soir, ma cherie."_

"Ahmed al-Fahsihd," she replied, struggling to keep her voice steady. Her words dripped sarcasm. "What an absolute shock to see you here. Trolling for some late-night ass?"

"Well, this is Pig Alley, after all," he said, giving her a charming smile. "_Mais_ _non, mademoiselle._ I troll for _you_ tonight." He began to walk toward her leisurely, his hands casually in his pockets. "Although you were – shall we say – rather _uncooperative_ just now." He frowned with mocking displeasure. "Really, _Mademoiselle_ Moreno. Killing two of my men? Stabbing a third? Breaking a fourth's fingers and a fifth's cheekbone? With a Ming vase, of all things?"

"I don't take kindly to my flat getting broken into in the middle of the night," Chase replied, taking a step back for every step he took toward her. "My sleep is very important to me."

"As is your work to try to bring my family down, I see," Ahmed said softly. He gave her a mockingly apologetic smile. "I'm afraid I can't allow that."

"I'm afraid I don't give a shit," Chase said calmly, covering up her nervousness with bravado.

Ahmed sighed and glanced at something over her shoulder for a moment, then shifted his gaze back to her, still smiling that same mocking smile. An instant later, all the breath left Chase's body when she felt a hard fist in her side, and then someone was kicking the back of her knees and she fell over onto her hands. Immediately, one of Ahmed's men stepped forward and threw a black hood over her head and pinned her arms to her sides. She panted against the heavy woolen material and thrashed violently, kicking her legs out until the connected with someone. A moment later she felt her legs being grabbed and yanked into the air, and she felt herself being carried.

"She's precious cargo," she heard Ahmed call after her. "Be gentle." He laughed.

She heard a van door being slid open and then she was unceremoniously thrown onto the hard metal floor of the van at the lip of the alley. She felt her hands being jerked up in front of her and a moment later felt rope cutting into her wrists as they were bound together. Someone yanked her shearling boots off her feet and bound her ankles as well.

The van started moving and Chase lay panting on the floor, trying to keep her wits about her and holding her desire to panic at bay. Where were they taking her? What were they going to do?

Then she was thinking of Tuck and the tears began to flow. She thought back to her earlier thoughts of his reaction if something would ever happen to her, and wept harder. She wept for him, for his grief, and the fact that it was highly unlikely she would ever see his face again. And in those horrible moments of lying on the floor of a strange vehicle, surrounded by the enemy, being carried off to God-only-knew-where, that was all she wanted – to see his face, to feel the strength in his arms as he held her, protected her.

Suddenly the hood was yanked off her head and she stared blinking up into another face she had never seen in person, but recognized nonetheless. _Jamal al-Fahsihd._

"One of the men you shot was my cousin," he raged at her in Farsi. "You fucking pig-bitch."

Chase swallowed her tears and glared up at him. "He shouldn't have been in my flat," she replied in Farsi. "He got what he deserved. And you will, too."

He reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair and she growled in fury, unable to do anything but be pulled up. "I recommend not saying another word," he hissed. "Or it could be your last."

"Careful," another man said, also in Farsi. "The boss said she had to be brought back alive."

"Alive," Jamal repeated. "He didn't say anything about unharmed." His eyes lit on her balled up fists near her face, tied tightly at the wrist with rope, and Chase knew what he was looking at – her engagement ring.

"How lovely," Jamal said mockingly. "Some poor idiot wants to make this pig-whore his wife. We ought to send him his ring still on her finger so he gets a special message." He laughed. "I'm sure _Tuck Hansen_ would really enjoy that, now, wouldn't he?"

Chase froze and stared up at him, icy rage coiling in her belly. "How do you know his name?" she demanded in Farsi, and Jamal just laughed. "_How do you know his name!"_

Jamal leaned down and leered into her face. "How do you think?" he asked rhetorically. "The same fucking way we know everything about you. Your little so-called partner." He sat back with a self-satisfied smirk. "It's amazing what tens of thousands of dollars will make someone do."

_That little fucking shit! _Chase raged inwardly. _He set me up! How could I have been so stupid? _

Jamal leaned forward again. "I was serious – I think we ought to send Agent Hansen a little message. Boys?" He laughed again and reached for Chase's hand.

Quick as lightning she darted her head forward and bit his hand as savagely as possible, immediately tasting blood, which she spat up into his face, and then propelled her body upward to slam the top of her head into his nose. Jamal roared with pain and rage, and the last thing Chase registered was the back of his hand flying straight down toward her face.

* * *

The sick feeling Tuck felt all night with Joe pervaded through the rest of Sunday, and the knot in the pit of his stomach grew larger as he kept trying to connect with Chase, and dial her internationally, and received no answer.

Again, he told himself, the connection was bad, things happened. She would call when she could. It made sense, it was logical, and it didn't help at all.

He _knew_ something was wrong.

He got desperate enough to call Benjamin, but he wasn't answering his phone either, which was doubly strange. Not that Tuck had exactly had a reason to call before, but the newbie was always at their beck and call, frankly, and for him to be unavailable not just once, but twelve times, and not returning calls was highly unusual.

By Sunday evening, Tuck had called FDR, who told him he was being paranoid, and then he had finally broken down and called Collins herself. He hated to bother the site director and almost never did so, but in his mind, it qualified as an emergency.

"Calm down, Tuck," she had said, her calm and stoicism lending him a little strength. "Let's not jump to conclusions here."

"With all due respect, ma'am," Tuck said, gritting his teeth, "waiting one hour, trying her again and not getting her and _then_ calling you would be jumping to conclusions. Almost twenty-four hours has passed. This just isn't like her."

"Be that as it may," Collins said gently, "there is protocol to follow. Chase _is_ undercover, Tuck, and you know as well as anyone that severely limits the contact with base and home. It's possible she got a lead and is following it. I know you two are going to be married, so your concern is more than understandable. But I don't want it to get in the way of your view on how missions are handled."

"I know all of that, Chief," Tuck replied. "I am very well aware of that. My instincts are telling me something is not right. Something is very, very _wrong_, in fact."

"Your _instincts_, Tuck?" Collins asked, not unkindly. "Or maybe you're just worried?"

Tuck felt like his head might explode. "Ma'am, we have FBI in-country right now. I really, really think that we should have them check on her to make sure she's all right."

"And have them possibly disrupt some lead she's following right now?" Collins' voice came back to him, still calm and quiet, but with a sharpness that hadn't been there before. "I understand and appreciate your concern, Hansen, but we're going to wait a bit longer before we do that. I hope you understand given your previous experiences in similar situations." She paused, and Tuck heard the faintest sound of a breath being exhaled in a sigh. "Chase is one of the best," she added finally. "Not _my_ best – _the _best. She can take care of herself."

Tuck knew it was useless to continue arguing, and that just made him feel sicker. "Yes, Chief."

"Now, try not to worry and I'll see you in the morning. Good night."

"Good night."

Tuck all but slammed the phone down after disconnecting the call and buried his head in his hands. He didn't know the identities of the FBI agents overseas, so he couldn't contact them personally, or else he damn well would have. It would have been a bad move, going over the CIA site director's head, but in that moment he couldn't have cared less.

After he put Joe to bed and then went to bed himself, he lay on his back staring up at the ceiling, knowing that sleep would never come to him that night. He mulled over his options. He had a couple of FBI friends that had assisted him on the Koslov case last year. While they may have no knowledge of the al-Fahsihd case or who was working on it, they were infinitely closer to that knowledge than he was. He'd call Agent Marco or maybe Agent Moore in the morning and put them on the trail.

He'd be damned if he just sat by and did nothing.

_Wherever you are, my love, I hope you're safe. You have to be._

* * *

She came to in a rush of pain.

Before light, sound, touch, or taste came back to her, Chase simply _felt_. And it _hurt_. Her head throbbed horribly, worse than any migraine she had ever experienced before in her life. It was a pain that was sharp and dull, swift and slow, stinging and steady, all at the same time. And it made pain radiate out through the rest of her body, to where she wanted to groan aloud.

How had she gotten here? What was happening? Where was she?

It took an alarming amount of moments to recollect the events of the night, and memories of the assault in her flat and her wild, ultimately useless, run through the neighborhood flooded her mind at the same time as her other senses came flooding back to her as well. A flash of light made her eyes burn, and she saw that she was in some damp, dimly lit room, almost like an empty concrete basement. There was one bright lamp, like an interrogation-room lamp, and it hung from a chain attached to the ceiling. It swung precariously and every so often she could see a shadowy figure or two illuminated, standing close to her. The figures were murmuring, the sound flowing in and out of her pulsing ears. She knew they were speaking Farsi and French and even English occasionally but her mind was too fuzzy right now to pay attention and make out what they were saying.

The taste of copper on her tongue was the last sense to come to her, and she worked her mouth in an explorative manner. She felt swelling flesh on the inside of her lip, and recalled that Jamal had cracked her across the face before knocking her out. She didn't even want to see what her face looked like – she could feel dried fluid below her nose that she assumed was blood. Her nose itself ached horribly and she wondered if it was broken. Her cheekbone stung and throbbed from the remnants of the force of the blow she'd been dealt.

She moved her hand reflexively to touch her face, and then discovered that she couldn't move either of her hands. Then she realized that she was bound at the wrists – they were spread apart and tied and the ropes were connected to chains that attached to either side of the back wall of the room. And then her knees and quadriceps ached, and she saw that she was low enough to the floor to be on her knees – but not close enough to allow her bottom to rest against it. Her knees and quadriceps were holding her up, and between the sudden ache in her wrists, the burning in her shoulders, the throbbing pain down her back into her thighs, she was _horribly_ uncomfortable.

She lifted her head shakily and met the eyes of the man who had knocked her out and she unconsciously clenched and unclenched her fists. She squeezed her left hand again and realized something didn't feel right. It was a little thing…but she noticed it all the same. _What's off about this?_ she wondered.

And then she knew, at the same time as she saw it.

Jamal al-Fahsihd held something up in the dim light, a small object that reflected the light and cast a million tiny rainbows on the ground. It glittered and shimmered and suddenly her eyes were blurry with tears.

"Give it back," she hissed in vain. "Give me my fucking ring back, you son of a bitch."

"Nope," Jamal said cheerfully. He tossed it into the air and Chase gasped. He caught it again and made a show of tucking it into his pocket, and then patting it. "I am going to keep it a little while longer to taunt your miserable fiancé with it. And then, I am going to sell it. I'm quite certain I can get a delightful price for it." He leaned down and slid a hand through Chase's hair and she tried to recoil from him, her back hitting the wall she was chained up against.

"I hope you treasured it while you had it," he whispered. "Because even if you don't die down here, you'll never go back to that life. You'll never see that ring, or your fiancé, ever again."

Chase mustered up the last of her bravado and spat in his face, and once again Jamal sent his knuckles smashing into her cheek. It wasn't hard enough to knock her out, but she slumped to the side against her screaming left shoulder, dazed. She felt fresh blood trickle from her nose.

"Try that with me again," he said calmly, wiping his face off with a silk handkerchief, "and I will personally cut your tongue out." He glanced around at his men. "Let's go. I only wanted to be present when she woke. We'll leave her for now, and return to administer the questioning later. Or rather, Omar will be here." He snickered, and so did the men, and Chase didn't know what that meant, but she surmised that perhaps Omar, whoever he was, had a special method of interrogation. She refused to be intimidated, but shivered involuntarily.

Chase glared up at him, the smallest sliver of her pride and desire to not show fear still within her. "Tell your friend Omar to bring it on," she rasped, and shifted her wrist in its binding and flashed him her middle finger.

Jamal threw his head back. "Famous last words, my pretty little spy," he said. "I'll come and check on you after he is through with you, and see if you are still singing that same tune, as you Americans love to say." He smirked. "Or if you can even speak at all. Gentlemen."

He motioned for them to leave and one by one they all filed out of the room. Chase slumped down as far as she could go, the maddening feeling of her butt being suspended just above the ground when she was begging for the relief of sitting bringing her to tears.

_Time to see what you're really made of, Moreno,_ she thought despondently. And as the rest of her strength and bravery trickled out of her, she sent up a prayer that someone, somewhere, would help her – by either getting her out of there or ending it quickly. She didn't see many other options.

_Tuck – I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If there's any way for you to know that – know it now. I let you down, I broke my promise, and I'm sorry. I love you._

She pulled up the last image of his face that she had seen in person, saying goodbye to her at the Air Force base in LA. She remembered his expression as she blew him one last kiss at the cargo door of the plane that had carried her overseas – sweet, wistful, full of love and longing. She held onto that memory, knowing it would be the only thing to carry her through until the end – whichever way it came to her.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Hello, friends and neighbors. Hope you are having a lovely Monday. If you're not, like me, then I hope this chapter will help. Well, er, maybe it won't... Anyway, do me a solid and read and review. I'd really appreciate it. Enjoyment is, of course, optional, although I hope you will. Besos!**

**Chapter 13**

FDR glanced up as Tuck stormed across the field office toward the area that housed their facing workstations and lifted his eyebrows. Tuck was normally so reserved and polite, responding in a friendly manner to those whom he passed in the mornings with a word of greeting, a wish for them to have a good day – the perfect British gentleman. This morning, however, FDR's best friend looked like he hadn't slept a wink, his light brown hair slightly mussed, his pale blue dress shirt buttoned incorrectly and his dark pants were slightly wrinkled, although FDR was pretty sure no one else would be able to tell.

FDR waited patiently as Tuck kicked his ergonomically sound rolling chair back from his workstation, threw his tie into his desk drawer and practically slammed his suit jacket down on top of his desk, before sitting down heavily in the chair and immediately clacking away at the keys. His brows were drawn and his lips were pulled back almost in a snarl.

"Something wrong this morning, Sunshine?" FDR called across the short space that separated their desks. He knew that Tuck was really struggling with the separation from his fiancée, and the previous evening he'd been extremely worried about the fact that his call had been disconnected from Chase and he had been unable to get a hold of her again. But FDR had done his best to convince Tuck that five thousand miles tended to do a number on any sort of communication signal, and moreover, Chase _was_ working on a relatively covert operation – that meant that she would not always be available for long chit-chats on the phone.

Apparently, FDR's from-the-heart words had meant precisely dick to his friend, based on Tuck's current demeanor and the glowering stare that he had shifted to FDR.

"Let's see," Tuck began lightly, and sarcasm overflowed from his tone. "What's wrong is that I can't get a hold of my fiancée who is halfway across the world dealing with extremely dangerous Persian terrorists. Her partner can't be trusted, and in the middle of our late-night conversation, the connection died which it has never done before and each time I try to ring her or connect her on Skype I get a message telling me that the person I am trying to reach is unavailable or that the connection is unstable. Oh, and then there's the small bit about my fucking gut feeling. And not one of you bleeding arseholes seems to take me seriously when I say so!"

His voice had risen only a tiny bit in volume, but FDR couldn't have been more shocked than if Tuck had gotten up onto his desk and begun shouting various curses and oaths at the entire office. Tuck was always laid back, relaxed, and had a good sense of self-awareness and control – even in the tightest of situations. To see him display this much emotion and anger was definitely startling.

FDR held up a hand and patted the air. "Okay, it's all right, man," he said soothingly. "Listen. I _am_ taking you seriously – I'm just trying to put the situation into perspective a little bit, okay? I don't want you having an anxiety attack for no reason. I want to help you, okay?"

"If you want to help," Tuck said, his eyes back on the screen before him and his fingers returning to the keyboard, "you can contact FBI Agent Moore for me now. I'm about to ring Agent Marco."

"For what, exactly?" FDR asked, frowning.

Tuck spared him another withering glance and took a deep breath. "The FBI is in Paris as well as our people, you knob. I'm going to have them contact their agents overseas and get them looking for Chase and little Benjamin. They can't move without our go-ahead anyway."

"I mean, I got that part," FDR said patiently. "What I mean is, sending them to track down your fiancée sounds like a personal errand on company time. _When_ they locate her doing her _job_ I imagine that could hold some unpleasant repercussions for you." He shrugged. "Think about what you're doing, Tuck."

"I _am_," Tuck growled. "And it's _not _a personal errand; I'm sending them to track down our agents to make sure they're not in any trouble. When I spoke to Chase last, she didn't mention anything in the way of going to track down a lead, and I know that she would have told me if that was her plan." He jotted something down on a small note pad and then reached for the phone, meeting FDR's eyes. "I've a feeling the lead tracked _her _down. Now, don't argue with me, Franklin. If I'm really your friend, you will do as I have asked you to do." He started jabbing numbers into the phone. "_Please_, mate_."_

"Guilt-tripping son of a bitch," FDR muttered under his breath, but nevertheless turned to his computer and accessed his email contact list database. He located Agent Moore's contact information and reached for the phone on his desk, pressing the buttons for his number quickly with the end of his pen. He waited as the phone rang twice, and then picked up.

"Agent Moore."

"Hey, man," FDR said. "It's FDR Foster. CIA."

"Oh, hey there, Agent Foster," Agent Moore replied. "How are you doing? It's been quite a while since we spoke, hasn't it?"

FDR squinted as he tried to remember. "Little over a year, I think. Koslov case. Yeah."

"Those damn Russians," Agent Moore chuckled. "Anyway, what can I do for you?"

"Well," FDR said, "I know your agency has got people overseas in Paris right now working with some of our people on the al-Fahsihd case." He paused. "Ring any bells?'

"Sure," Agent Moore replied. "I'm not on that case directly but I know we've got a couple teams holed up over there. Waiting for intel from your operatives, actually, if I'm not mistaken."

"You're not mistaken," FDR said. "See, the problem is that over the weekend, we lost contact with our two operatives that we've got planted over there. We were hoping you could help us out, maybe get a few of your folks on their trail."

Agent Moore whistled. "Gonna be a tricky one," he responded. "We don't know anything about your people, their whereabouts, their addresses, until they contact us. And as someone _not _working on that case, I don't even know _who _is working on that case. So…if you're willing to breach anonymity, we can see what we can do."

"It's Chase," FDR blurted. "You remember Chase Moreno."

There was a pause. "She went missing, you said?" His tone had suddenly tightened up, and FDR knew that was a testament to the solid working relationship and mutual respect that Chase and the FBI agent shared with each other.

"I don't know that for certain. She and Agent Hansen were communicating via Skype over the weekend, when it was about three-thirty, Paris time. Tuck says that in the middle of the conversation, Chase appeared to hear something outside her apartment, and then their connection went dead. He has not been able to get a hold of her, or her partner, Benjamin Baker, since then." FDR glanced over at Tuck, who appeared to be deeply engrossed with whomever he was speaking with, presumably Agent Marco.

"Hmm." Agent Moore sounded troubled. "Something about that sounds and feels wrong."

"That's what Tuck has been saying," FDR replied. "And I guess now I'm beginning to feel it too."

"Have you approached Collins with this yet?"

"Tuck has. She feels that he's overreacting, in so many words, and that Chase is just following a lead."

"I haven't worked with her in a while," Agent Moore mused, "and yet I don't get the impression that she would just go off the grid without saying a word to anyone. She is certainly dedicated to her job" – FDR caught the _slightest_ hint of dryness in the agent's voice – "but being altogether irresponsible and incommunicado never seemed to be her bags."

"Generally, they're not," FDR replied, "though she does have her moments." He thought back to the night they infiltrated Jared Wheeler's mansion, and Chase had clicked off her earpiece for a little while as the sounds of FDR's and Tuck's voice were disturbing her concentration – but she'd come right back. And the night she and Tuck had caught Boris Koslov, and almost caught Vlad Andrei at the casino in Las Vegas – she had turned her earpiece off due to a bad connection, but she'd been in the vicinity. There was just something so uncharacteristic with Chase being out of touch for several days, and now FDR was truly beginning to feel it in his bones that something was awry.

"Well, since we are talking about a case I've got some of my people on," Agent Moore said, "and we are talking about Chase, yes. It would be my pleasure to help. It might take me a little while. Have you also contacted Marco?"

"I think Tuck is doing that as we speak," FDR said, glancing back across the desk space at his friend, who was still talking at length.

"Good. Okay, then, Foster. I'll get on this. This will be unofficial priority, all right?"

"Yes," FDR replied in relief. "Thanks, Moore. I really appreciate it. I owe you a beer."

"Let's wait until Chase gets back stateside and then we can all go for one," Agent Moore said lightly. He paused. "How is Hansen taking this? You know, I got an invite for their wedding a couple weeks ago. I don't imagine he's doing too well.

"He – he's not," FDR admitted. "Not at all. So the sooner we can get some leads, the better."

"Absolutely," Agent Moore said firmly. "Talk soon, Foster."

FDR hung up his phone and looked at Tuck again, who also appeared to be finishing up his phone call. He met FDR's eyes.

"Marco is happy to help us," Tuck said heavily. "Will probably have to wait a little while for intel, though. Moore?"

"Same, exactly the same," FDR said. He paused, examining his own current feelings. Somewhere between Tuck storming in this morning and getting off the phone just now, FDR had changed from coming into the office completely worry-free, ready for another Monday at work, to feeling out of sorts and the first twinges of real, deep concern tugging at his insides. Chase was a colleague, a friend, and his best friend's fiancée at that; that made her soon-to-be his sister-in-law, almost. Not only did he not want anything bad to happen to her, he also did _not_ want to witness Tuck's pain and anguish if that turned out to be the case. He knew Tuck loved Chase deeply, more deeply than he had Katie, even, and would never bounce back from something awful and irrevocable happening to her.

He clenched his jaw, seeing his own worry mirrored a thousandfold on Tuck's face. "Listen, man, I apologize for making it seem like you were overreacting. I feel something's off, too. Just hit me. Sorry to be slow on the uptake." He leaned forward. "But listen, we've got contacts and we've got resources. We're gonna find her, bro. Right?"

"Right," Tuck replied, his tone waning slightly.

"Tuck. FDR."

Both of their heads snapped up in the general direction of Collins' second-floor office, seeing her standing on the balcony, her hands on the railing, dressed to the nines as she always was. It wasn't out of the ordinary for them to be summoned up to see her – in fact, with their sometimes wild and irresponsible ways of getting business handled, it was pretty much the norm.

What wasn't the norm was the look of utter alarm and apprehension on her face, and her tone was not imperious and annoyed, like it usually was, but almost quiet, and worried.

FDR and Tuck rose to their feet at the same time, and FDR was pretty certain that his stomach fell straight out of his ass through the floor of the field office to a hundred feet below the ground. _This can't be good,_ he thought, his stomach clenching with stress. _She looks – uneasy. This is bad._

He glanced at Tuck, and saw that the color had drained from his face. But when he spoke, his voice was steady. "Yes, ma'am?"

"I need you both up here, in my office," the site director called back softly. "I have something you need to see. Now, please."

_Oh, fuck. Please don't let this be what my horrible mind thinks it is._

Tuck stepped around his desk, his hands shoved deeply in his pockets and his jaw clenched with stress. He looked at FDR and swallowed hard. "You ready, mate?" he asked, and his voice was very low.

FDR quickly came out from behind his desk and joined Tuck, nodding. On the way across the office, FDR briefly clasped Tuck's shoulder.

"Whatever happens, I'm here for you, man," he said, hoping to sound light and utterly failing. "It's gonna be okay."

Tuck nodded tightly, and they ascended the stairs toward Collins' office. FDR's stomach kept coiling tighter and tighter with anxiety as he wondered what awful thing waited for them behind their boss's door.

* * *

Chase floated in and out of consciousness, losing all track of time. She was only conscious of the excruciating pain in her shoulders, the ache in her hips and her bottom, and the pain of her knees bearing all of her weight, pressed against the hard cement floor. Her stomach burned with hunger and her throat itched, although she occasionally had been fed some water. She had no idea how long she'd been where she currently was, but she didn't know how much longer she could be there.

Her head hung down, and she had long ago figured out how to mostly ignore the pain in her upper back that radiated to her fingertips. The tendons and muscles in her arms felt completely stretched out, and sharp pains shot down her back and into her quads and hamstrings. She realized she'd been asleep, or passed out, more appropriately, and the sudden sound of voices in the room she was chained up in broke through her unconsciousness slowly. Her head felt foggy, and the voices were distant despite the fact that she could make out the shapes of bodies in the room. She could hardly keep her eyes open but she fought to stay awake, struggling for alertness.

Suddenly, the very thing she needed – alertness – shocked her system as icy water was flung into her face. She gasped and choked, struggling uselessly against the chains that bound her, trying to struggle to her feet and failing as her legs trembled with the fatigue of supporting her body weight for a seemingly endless amount of time. She staggered and tripped, and heard laughter.

"Ah, she is awake now," she heard a new voice say cheerfully, and then the bright heat lamp in the corner was suddenly beaming right into her face. She squinted against the light, her eyeballs searing in pain, and lowered her head again.

A rough hand raked into her hair and brutally yanked her head back, and Chase found herself staring into an unfamiliar face. This wasn't Ahmed or Jamal, or even Big Daddy Mohammed; this was someone she'd never seen before and apparently, he had business with her. Suddenly, a memory of Jamal's parting words rang in her mind.

_"__Omar will be here… I'll come and check on you after he is through with you."_ And his cruel, mocking laughter after the words resounded through her brain.

"Omar," she mumbled, without intending to.

"Ah, does my reputation precede me?" he cried, sounding absolutely delighted. "Yes, little spy, I am Omar. I believe my cousin Jamal mentioned me to you." His lips twisted into a smirk. "I also believe – per my cousin's relaying of the tale, that is – that you instructed him to tell me to 'bring it on'?"

_Damn your mouth, Moreno,_ Chase thought. She kept her mouth shut.

Omar beamed into her face. "You shouldn't have said that, pretty one." He yanked her head back harder and a moment later Chase felt the cold, sharp bite of serrated metal teeth sliding across her throat and she gasped, thrashing involuntarily against the sensation.

_I'm dead now,_ she thought hysterically. _He's cutting my throat_. She jerked uselessly in her chains, and Omar yanked her back again, so hard this time that Chase felt and heard bones in her neck and spine pop.

"Do you want your carotid artery severed?" he asked chidingly. "Relax, Miss Moreno, please. It was only a little scratch."

Chase felt blood dripping down her neck and under the collar of her shirt and knew that it was a little more than a scratch. She stared up at him, her eyes wide, her chest heaving. Waiting.

He leaned over until his mouth was flush to her ear, and held her close so that her body couldn't recoil. "You should know by now that if I meant to truly harm you with my knife, I am more than capable of doing so." Tenderly, he kissed her earlobe and Chase immediately thought of the train station. So Omar had been the one to so expertly slice her in the side. She kept her eyes on him warily.

Omar circled around to her front to face her, smiling in an almost cheerful way. "How have you enjoyed your little stay with us so far, Miss Moreno?"

"It's been just lovely," Chase managed. "But if you don't mind, I'd prefer to head on home now."

Omar actually laughed. "I am positive you would," he replied, "but, sadly, that is not an option. You see, the family, my family, is on to you. We have known that you have been tracking us, hunting us, for many months now."

"Sounds like my _partner_ had a hand in that," Chase said, struggling to keep her voice calm, despite catching a glimpse of several trails of bright red blood splattering down the front of her shirt. Her neck burned from the cut.

"He did!" Omar exclaimed happily. "He has been _most _helpful, actually, not only in revealing your identity so that we might pluck you as soon as you arrived in Paris, but also giving us extremely valuable information regarding your country, your government, your agencies." He smiled and reached out to stroke her hair. "You couldn't _imagine_ how much other countries wish to see yours collapse."

"What do you want with me?" Chase demanded raggedly, trying in vain to jerk away from his touch.

"Ransom!" Omar said, and Chase could not get over how absolutely blithe he seemed over all of this. "We are going to use you for ransom. Your country will pay us what we demand, or we shall do as our Al-Qaeda brothers have demonstrated in the past and cut off your head, on video, and send it to your agency, your president, all of your social media outlets." He smiled sweetly. "Your fiancé." He chuckled. "Either way – it is a win-win for us. Even if we don't get the money, we get to murder you _and_ we still have Benjamin and all the delightful secrets of your country's government. Not to mention, our very elaborate bombing and assassination plot. Once the heads of the so-called 'powerful' countries in the world are eliminated, we shall hold the power. We'll be paid either way."

Chase did her best to suppress a shiver of terror. She'd be damned if she let Omar see that he was getting to her. "Perhaps you haven't done your historical research," she said, her voice trembling only a little bit. "My country tends to not give in to bullies. Maybe you recall the rash of kidnappings and videotaped beheadings that happened starting about ten years ago, at the start of the war. Several American and British contractors, an American journalist even, handfuls of people kidnapped by Al-Qaeda and held for ransom. The President never gave in. It'll never work. You'll never get paid." She drew a breath. "And as for your bombing and assassination plots, my government already knows about them. You'll never make that work, so you should just give it up now."

Omar smiled and shook his head admiringly at her. "Truly, your agency and your country should be _very_ proud to have someone like you in their employ," he said. "So loyal. So smart. So dedicated. You make very valid points, dear one, except you overlook some things. One, you are not a contractor. You are a clandestine operative of the most powerful intelligence agency in the world, and you possess knowledge that can bring down an empire, aside from being extremely good at what you do." He bowed his head humbly and placed a hand over his heart. "I mean that truly. So therefore your government will not treat you like some random, meaningless contractor, or even a journalist. They would move heaven and earth – meaning, pay whatever we demand – to get you back, if only to protect the secrets that you hold." He playfully pretended to drill his finger into her forehead. "Second, lovely one, the president you speak of who did not lift a finger to help his people, is not the same president you have now. This president seems like a man very, very concerned with what the public wants him to do, without very much regard for what he believes is right and wrong. If he were operating that way, he would recognize that one life means nothing when held against the lives of all the people of America, and so, he would let you perish. But because the public will know eventually that a _CIA operative_ is being held captive, he will do what he feels _they_ think is best, and he will pay the ransom to free you, and, I fear I repeat myself, protect all that lovely, valuable information in your brain." He leaned forward and pinched her cheeks. "And finally, to your point regarding our ingenious plan for the Embassy and the meeting of the leaders of many countries of this world – your president may very well have been informed of that intel – in fact, I would expect him to. He feels now that he can stay two steps ahead of us, and without rousing a public outcry, he will keep these threats contained in the media, or, if they happen to leak, he will cover them up and make them out to be less than they are." Omar smiled deprecatingly at her. "I mean, come on. You said yourself, darling Chase, that he gets threats no matter where he goes, no matter what he does, no matter how many times he leaves the White House. A threat against his life is a dime a dozen, am I right?" He grinned blissfully. "In order to save face, he will change the meeting date and keep it a tight-knit secret, letting only those close to him in America and in the Embassy here in France know. And that's where Mr. Baker comes in. You see, we already know what the new date is. Do you?" Omar studied her face, then crowed in delight at her expression. "I didn't think you did! How about that, guys?" He turned over his shoulder and held his hands out. "The tough and smart agent did not know about the date change. How sad!"

"When?" Chase demanded, her voice raspy. _"When?"_ It was futile to ask, she knew, because even if they did tell her, there was nothing she could do about it.

Omar laughed and patted her cheek. "I could not tell you and ruin the punch line, dearest one," he said soothingly. "You will find out after the fact." He smiled at her. "My dear, you are useful to us only in that you are profitable. Once that ceases to be the case, you will cease to live. Your very young and inexperienced partner is far more valuable to us. He has practical skills, yes – the hacking, the information, knowledge of weapons and how to make them, but most importantly, he is without a moral compass or any kind of scruple where his family is concerned. And that, my lovely spy, is hard to come by these days, and is more valuable than gold."

"Then why even bother talking to me, then?" Chase asked. "Since you already know everything there is to know. And more than I know, apparently." Omar's words echoed through her brain suddenly. "_He is without a moral compass or any kind of scruple where his family is concerned._ What the hell did that mean?

"Because I wanted to see your face when I informed you of what was to take place," Omar replied softly. "And try though you did to conceal it, your expressions of terror and anger and fear were absolutely delicious." He held up a finger, brightening as though he had remembered something. "Oh! There _is_ one thing I do require of you. You are going to help us make a video to send to all important parties! _You_ are going to beg for your own ransom, my sweet one. How would that be? Just like in the infamous beheading videos of years past. I'll even be standing by with a knife at your throat and make threatening gestures at the appropriate time, to add to the drama and heighten the tension. How does that sound?"

Chase kept quiet, a confusing mixture of fear and rage boiling in her chest. She also felt utterly helpless – there was _literally_ nothing she could do to stop this.

"Only, in order to make your plea more believable and heartfelt, they have to really believe the danger you are in," Omar went on. He reached out to pet Chase's long, wavy dark hair, then stroked his hand down her cheek, and then her neck, and then down the center of her body before looking back up into her face. "And you look far too pristine, my sweet, lovely one."

Before Chase could even try to make a futile gesture of self-protection, Omar's fist slammed into her gut and she doubled over, a gasping moan escaping her lips as air left her body in rush. Omar turned happily over his shoulder to the three other men in the room.

"My friends?" he asked them. "Would you care to join in with me on this little party?"


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Hello friends! Please read and review. Note: This chapter has some violence and mention of real-life violence that can be potentially upsetting. You've been warned.**

**Chapter 14**

Chase spat blood onto the cement floor, panting and peering up at the men in the room. For the last fifteen minutes, they'd taken turns beating her. Her face felt swollen, and her abdomen, back, arms and legs were excruciatingly sore. She was fairly certain that at least two of her ribs on the right side were cracked, and she caught glimpses of already-blossoming contusions on her arms, still chained up to the walls on either side of her.

"Fucking cowards," she managed, her naturally full lips feeling unnaturally swollen and bruised. She shifted her tongue around in her mouth, checking for loose or chipped teeth. She had managed to turn her head away from the blows to her face at the last minute so she wouldn't get her teeth knocked out, but the inside of her mouth tasted like blood from involuntarily biting her tongue and cutting the inside of her lips and cheeks on her teeth. She knew her nose was bleeding, and it was probably broken by now. She would bet it all on the horses that both her eyes were black, too.

If only these bastards had unchained her, and made it a fair fight, she could have shown them a thing or two about a thing or two. Her fists clenched and she shook the chains they were bound in violently, seething with rage underneath the physical pain.

Omar had rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt for this little interlude, and now he stood before her, his hands on his hips. He smiled down at her. What was most chilling to Chase was the fact that during the entire beating, he had never once deviated from his merry demeanor, sprinkling gentle caresses to her head and face in between blows, and always speaking to her in an affectionate manner.

"My darling, there is not a cowardly bone in any of our bodies," Omar insisted, sounding hurt. "You wound me."

"I'd love to," Chase ground out. "Why don't you unchain me and find out just how badly I can do that for you." She spat more blood at his feet, and several droplets landed on the tips of his black leather shoes and the hem of his trousers.

Omar sighed sadly, and then methodically swung the back of his hand against her face, his arm moving in a graceful, powerful arc. Chase's head snapped back from the force of the blow and she stumbled back. The chains prevented her from falling completely, but she lost her balance and toppled over onto her knees and her arms yanked painfully from where her wrists were shackled. Black spots swam before her eyes, and she panicked for a moment when she realized she couldn't see right away. Omar leaned over, smoothing her hair back from her face and bringing his lips to the side of her temple.

"It's almost time for the video shoot, my sweet one," Omar crooned in her ear. "But you are not dressed properly yet." He straightened and made a show of flicking his wrist to motion someone over. "Wardrobe!" he called, chuckling at his own humor.

Two men approached her, one of them using a key to unshackle her wrists. Chase felt a momentary flood of physical relief as she dropped to the ground, her arms aching horribly from the position they'd been in for hours and her legs quivering from fatigue. For a moment, it was all she could do to simply lie there on the ground, shaking and sucking in air.

The relief was short-lived when the man grabbed her by the hair in one hand and her wrists in the other. Chase grunted and struggled against him, but her weakened state did no good against his easy strength. The other man held folded black material in his hands and reached out for her. Chase kicked out automatically and connected her heel to his chin, and he growled in pain and grabbed her ankle.

"Do that again, and I will cut your foot off and stick it up your ass, dirty pig-bitch," he hissed in Farsi.

When the man set the stack of black material on the floor and reached for the waistband of her leggings, Omar clapped his hand over her mouth to swallow Chase's resulting shout of terror. He yanked them down her legs while the other man holding her hair and arms yanked her bloody white shirt over her head. Chase panted in fear, struggling, having no idea what was about to happen to her. Then Omar reached over her body and picked up the material. The men holding her let her go and she scuttled back against the wall, trying to cover herself with her arms and knees and hands.

Omar threw the material at her, and Chase realized it was an outfit – top and pants, almost a mixture of a prison uniform and hospital scrubs.

"Put them on," Omar said with a smile.

Chase obeyed quickly, because she did not want to be uncovered any longer before these strange, violent men, and when she had dressed, she was yanked to her feet, and the stifling woolen black hood was thrown over her head again. She felt a man on each side of her, gripping her arms, and she was led blindly out of the room and down a hall, her bare feet stumbling with every step.

"Learn to walk!" the man on her right growled at her, and a moment later her head felt the jarring impact of his fist slamming into it. He struck her right against her ear, and for a moment she heard nothing but a ringing, buzzing noise and stumbled to her knees.

"Get her up, please," Omar said calmly from in front of her. "Darling little spy, please do your best to comply with my friends. Move your feet."

And so she was forced to walk, down a cold dank hallway. The men stepped on her bare toes frequently, making her cry out in pain, and sometimes she would trip and stumble. When that happened, one of the men, or both of them, would hit her – on the back of her head, on her back, in her sides. The sides were the worst, especially her right – if her ribs weren't quite cracked before, they were now.

Chase gritted her teeth against the pain, willing the tears that sprung to her eyes – a physiological response to the physical pain she was feeling, and not an emotional one – to stay where they were. When the hood was yanked off her head, she refused to let her captors see the tears streaked on her face and assume she was weak. She felt weak, she felt discouraged and terrified and helpless and hopeless – but she would be _damned _if she let it show.

Finally she felt them come to a halt, the hands around her arms and elbows tightening to stop her movements. She heard a door opening, and saw bright light through the hood and heard more voices.

"Is it ready?" she heard Omar ask. Someone replied in the affirmative in Farsi and she could practically hear the grin in his voice. "Excellent."

Suddenly, Chase felt herself being forced down to her knees and every muscle in her body tightened with anxiety. The rough hands that held her arms shoved down hard on her shoulders, and she dropped to the floor heavily. Her knees screamed in aching pain, fatigued from supporting her weight for countless hours and sore and tender from the bruises she'd sustained as a result. She heard harsh commands in Farsi – Omar was instructing someone to start recording. The hood was ripped off her head, several strands of hair going with it, and she blinked against the bright lights suddenly assailing her eyes. She squinted around, seeing men dressed in black with black and white checkered _chafiyehs_ wound around their heads and faces. They were holding automatic rifles, and they were pointed at her.

Chase stared straight ahead, clenching her jaw and tightening her muscles again to prevent from shivering. She wasn't a woman who scared easily; but right now, she was absolutely terrified.

Boots thumped next to her and a moment later, Omar knelt down beside her. He had donned a _chafiyeh_ as well, and in one hand held a slip of paper, and in the other he held a machete. His eyes crinkled at the corners above the scarf, and she knew he was grinning at her.

"Darling little American spy," he said lovingly, and passed her the note. "Please, read this and look into the camera. I am going to stand beside you and hold this machete at your throat. But fear not – it is for appearances only. I shall not behead you…today." He rose to his feet. "Oh, and please note. I know you are a very skilled fighter and more than proficient with weapons. While I have no intention of hurting you myself today, if you make one false move, these men will open fire upon you at my word. Do you understand?"

Chase nodded mutely, willing her hands to not shake as they clutched the note she had been given.

Omar's eyes crinkled up again, and he stood at her side, placing one hand on her shoulder and holding the knife to her throat. "Please begin," he told her in Farsi.

Chase tightened her lips. If she didn't read, they would probably kill her. If she did read what was written, she was risking exposing her identity if this video fell into the wrong hands. But with a machete at her neck – however innocuous Omar insisted it was – and at least six AR-15s pointed at her, she wasn't left with much of a choice.

"My name is Chase Moreno," she read, thankful that her voice was firm although she could no longer prevent her hands from trembling a little. "I am an operative of the United States Central Intelligence Agency. I have been taken captive by the al-Fahsihd family in Paris for my involvement in the family's surveillance, hostage attempts of family members and associates, and other offenses. As a result, the al-Fahsihd family demands ten million dollars, in American currency, to be wired to a bank account that will be shown at the end of this film. If you do not pay –" Chase's throat tightened and she stopped reading.

"Go on, sweet one," Omar said to her in Farsi. "Keep reading. This is the best part."

"If you do not pay," she went on thickly, "I will be executed in one week by beheading, which will be filmed and aired on Al Jazeera. As well, the video of my execution will be distributed to various U.S. media outlets."

The words she read aloud echoed hollowly in her ears and she stared down at the paper. She heard voices around her, Omar barking orders, and the bright lamp moving, and then the paper she was holding was ripped out of her hands and she was being yanked to her feet, the rough hands at her arms again. She was silent as she was led from the room, her body aching with pain but she did not stumble now that she could see where she was going.

"Oh, wait!" Omar called, his voice cheerful and excited. "Miss Moreno, I have a surprise for you!"

Chase immediately felt wary, her muscles tensing in anticipation of physical danger, but the men who held her merely turned her around, forcing her to look down the hallway back the way they'd come. And her mouth fell open at what she saw.

Benjamin Baker.

Omar went to him and flung an arm over his shoulders, grinning widely. He led him down the hall toward Chase, who was staring at him silently, her gray-blue eyes blazing with rage and betrayal.

"It is your little buddy, Benny!" Omar announced unnecessarily. He elbowed Benjamin in the side. "C'mon, Benny, no words for your old friend?"

"You," Chase's voice rasped out, shaking with fury. "_You!"_

Without quite knowing what she was doing, Chase lunged at him with a sudden, almost inhuman burst of strength; the movement was so sharp and forceful that she momentarily left her captors' hands, intent on nothing but beating the deceitful young operative within an inch of his life.

Large, rough hands grabbed her arms and shoulders and slammed her onto the ground, and air burst out of her lungs at the impact. Her ribs hummed with agony, the back of her head cracked on the hard cement floor, and spots once again danced before her eyes. She was terrified that she had a concussion; that could kill her as easily as any one of these men could.

Omar laughed uproariously. "Doesn't appear that she's happy to see you, my friend."

"Chase," Benjamin said urgently. "Chase, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry – they threatened my family, my mother – I had no choice –"

"There is always a choice, little chum," Omar said merrily, smacking Benjamin on the back. He motioned for the other men to haul Chase to her feet as he held up the hood. "There is _always_ a choice. Be glad you made the one you did, or this could be _you_."

When Chase was upright, her eyes rolling back into her skull, he yanked the black woolen hood over her head, and darkness, mixed with rage and despair, swallowed her once more.

* * *

Tuck stood rooted in place, watching the love of his life read a pre-written ransom statement in a voice that was flat and emotionless. Ten million dollars, the al-Fahsihds wanted, or she would have her head cut off on camera for the entire world to see in one week's time.

He was awash with many different emotions, so intense he could have dropped to his knees. When Collins had silently stood to the side to allow him and FDR into her office, and then shut the door, Tuck felt his stomach go cold and shaky and sick, his hands trembling as they balled into fists in his pockets. He'd stood completely still in the middle of the room, ignoring his boss's invitation to take a seat, and simply stared at her. This had to do with Chase; he knew it, FDR knew it, and the look on Collins' face gave it away.

When she had seen that neither he nor FDR were going to take the proffered seats, Collins sighed and turned her laptop around to face them.

For a moment, Tuck didn't understand what he was looking at. It was a video recording of a room, brightly lit by a lamp off-screen, with five or six men dressed in black militia uniforms wearing the traditional desert scarf of the Middle East standing behind a small figure also dressed in black, wearing a black hood. As he watched, the hood was ripped off the figure's head, and he blinked as he recognized his fiancée. His Chase.

She was bloodied and bashed, the sight of her bruised and cut face making his eyes sting with furious tears. He wanted to murder the whole lot of them, torture them for torturing him as he felt now, watching her suffer. He was completely helpless, _impotent_, to save her from her fate and the feeling of utter uselessness threatened to drive him mad.

In the video, a man placed a piece of paper in her hands and a horrifyingly large machete at her throat, and Tuck's heart leapt into his mouth as his stomach keeled like a sailboat on the Pacific during a hurricane. He was about to witness her be murdered – he was about to see his love be taken away from him, snuffed out of his light like a tiny, insignificant candle.

The man with the machete at her throat spoke some words to her in Farsi, and then told her to read. He watched as Chase's jaw clenched, and his heart broke at the sight of her two black eyes, her bloody nose and mouth, her cheeks lumpy and purple with bruises. Her arms were cut and bruised, and he noticed the way she seemed to favor one side of her torso, as though it were tender and hurt. But a small measure of strength flowed back into him when he heard her voice. Despite what she was going through, it was still firm, strong, and clear, even if it was totally emotionless.

_Good girl_, he thought fiercely. _Don't let them see you're frightened, my sweet love. You must be brave._

He had seen the hideously disturbing beheading videos of Kenneth Bigley, Nicholas Berg, Daniel Pearl, and other foreign hostages in Iraq at the start of the war. He'd been freshly recruited to the CIA back then, and he'd been in training when the execution videos were running rampant online. He'd met the two CIA operatives who had attempted to free Bigley from his captors, albeit unsuccessfully, and had been privy to a great deal of information and chatter regarding the whereabouts of the infamous Abu Masab al-Zarqawi, the leader of the group snatching hostages and usually murdering them. Apparently the al-Fahsihds were attempting to revive the ransom kidnappings, now that al-Zarqawi was dead. Except that instead of demanding political "freedom" and the removal of foreign troops from their land, the greedy fucks were just demanding money as a form of reparations for their "wrongs".

The video cut off just as two of the men stepped forward and hauled Chase to her feet. Tuck breathed hard and sharply through his nose. He felt sick and heartbroken and wretched and a tiny bit relieved now that he knew _something_ of what had happened to her and that she was still alive, and then he felt despair and terror again when he thought of what she'd read, what they wanted, and what they were planning to do.

It couldn't happen. He would die, figuratively and mostly literally, if anything happened to her. He couldn't imagine life without her. There was nothing for him in this world if she was no longer in it.

"Where did this come from?" Tuck asked, his voice tight.

"It was delivered to the CIA Director's email this morning," Collins replied quietly. "Along with the FBI Director's, and DHS." She took a deep breath. "Of course, the Director has asked that the other agencies keep her identity a secret to preserve the case, should she be freed."

"_Freed?_" Tuck demanded. "Don't you mean _rescued?_"

Collins patted the air. "Please, Tuck. Sit down. There's a reason I asked the both of you to come up here."

Tuck clenched his fists at his sides, unwilling to move, until he felt FDR grasp his shoulder. "Sit down, man," he said quietly. "Come on."

Tuck didn't take his eyes off of Collins as he reluctantly sat down. "Ma'am – you can't just sit idle. They've _got _her."

"I know, Tuck," Collins said. "I know. I'm just as upset as you are."

_I doubt that._ No one could possibly begin to understand how Tuck felt right now.

"But there are steps to be followed. The CIA, the FBI, and DHS all have to discuss this together. We are going to have to reach out to DC on this one. The President is going to have to be notified. Moreover, we have to do everything possible to ensure that this information stays under lock and key. The public can't know about this, and they certainly can't find out about her identity. She'll be out of a career, and maybe even a _life_ if that information slips to the wrong people. There's protocol in these types of situations."

"It all sounds like a waste of bloody time to me," Tuck blurted. "Her _life_ is at stake, Chief, and you're talking about _meetings?"_ He rose to his feet. "This is my _fiancée_ we are talking about!"

"Hansen, _sit_," Collins ordered sharply. Tuck remembered himself and slowly sat down again, mumbling an apology. "If you would let me finish, I was about to say that I'm aware of what a precariously small time frame we are dealing with here, and what needs to be done behind the scenes is going to take time that I'm not sure we can spare." She took a deep breath. "So I'm sending the two of you to Paris."

Tuck's head snapped up. It was more than he could hope for, more than he could have dreamed of asking – he'd hoped that some sort of rescue team would be sent to Paris to go after Chase, but because they were engaged, Tuck had imagined that some sort of conflict of interest would prevent him from being in on that. In fact he _knew,_ as well as Collins did, that there _was _a conflict of interest. However, it was apparent that she was delicately overlooking that, and he decided he bloody well ought to, too.

As if she were reading his mind, she said, "I'm sure I don't need to point out the potential issues that could arise from sending the two of you, so I'm sure I don't need to ask you to keep this under wraps. I'm also aware that you contacted the FBI Agents Marco and Moore this morning for assistance." She lifted an eyebrow. "Let's not make a habit of reaching out to other agencies without leadership approval, okay, boys?"

Tuck didn't even want to guess at how Collins had come across that information as he exchanged a glance with FDR, whose sheepish expression he was sure mirrored his own.

She got up from the edge of the desk and walked back to her seat. "I'll make your travel arrangements right away. I'm afraid you boys will be flying commercial. No hops available."

"Just get me over there," Tuck muttered, staring at the laptop. "As soon as possible."

"I'll let you know when the arrangements are made," Collins told them. "In the meantime, just lay low. Don't tell anyone _else_ what you're doing." She looked at them both darkly.

Tuck nodded brusquely and he and FDR headed for the door.

"Boys."

The commanding tone of their boss stopped them in their tracks, and Tuck and FDR looked back at her.

"I'm extremely sorry that this happened, for our office, and especially for you, Tuck," Collins said, much more gently. "Find her and bring her back safely to us. That's an order."

"Yes, ma'am," Tuck and FDR said at the same time, and left her office.

_If it is the last thing I do on this earth,_ Tuck thought, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, _I will find you, sweetheart, and bring you back home. One way or another. _


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: This chapter is pretty disturbing. Warning. I hope it will not deter you from leaving me reviews and stuff. Thanks and besos!**

**Chapter 15**

Chase was dragged down the dank hall, stumbling again from the suffocating hood over her head. Her captors didn't bother with beating her with every stumble this time, though, for which she was enormously grateful. Her ears were ringing, from more than just the beating she had taken.

_Benjamin._

Her blood boiled at the memory of seeing him – showered, dressed, fed, safe. She was being tortured, beaten, her life threatened, and she was helpless to stop it – and meanwhile, she was enduring it because of him.

_"__Chase, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry – they threatened my family, my mother – I had no choice –"_

His panicked, remorseful words filled her mind. She wouldn't put the threats past the al-Fahsihds, and she realized that she couldn't exactly fault Benjamin for selling her out to keep his family safe. Chase thought about what she would do if she'd been placed in that situation. She might have played along to get the enemy to think that she was on their side, but she would have found a way to bust them, bring them down. That was what she was trained to do – to be deceptive when necessary, to play a role, and then to use all her skills, resources and connections to bring down a known threat against the United States.

And Benjamin had stood by and done nothing. He'd had a thousand chances to speak up and let her in on what was happening – they could have kept him, and his family, his mother, safe from harm. They could have brought the family down months ago, when she suspected it all began. They could have done so much – but he'd made the wrong decision, and now _she_ was paying for it.

_You better not _ever_ let me see you again._

Chase wasn't a particularly vengeful person, but she knew that if she survived, and ever crossed paths with the young "operative" again – there would be hell to pay. And she would take the debt out of his skull.

But first – there was the small matter of surviving. She still had no idea how long she'd been in captivity; it was probably well into Monday night now. She hadn't been fed, hadn't had anything to drink, and hadn't had any rest, and the toll it was taking on her body was enormous. For the first time in her life, Chase felt utterly weak and defenseless, and she knew that feeling that way could get her killed.

Finally they reached a door, presumably the door to the room that she'd been chained up to. She was shoved backward and down, one of the men still gripping her wrists tightly in one hand. She heard the sound of heavy metal door being unlatched, and then she was being hauled to her feet again roughly. The hood was snatched off her head and she was shoved into a room, but it was a different room than before. This room had a bunk bed built into the wall, a toilet on the other side of the small room, and nothing else. It looked just like a jail cell.

The impact of being shoved, combined with her weakened state, sent her sprawling across the floor into the edge of the bunk. She grabbed at it tiredly, thankful at least for a bed to rest on if she couldn't yet have food to eat or water to drink.

Omar stood between the two other men and studied her. "Mohammed says that you must be treated humanely in the event that you are ransomed. However, humanely merely means keeping you alive." He smiled. "You have been here with us for a very long time. I imagine you are hungry and thirsty."

Chase watched him warily, unwilling to answer.

"You shall be given food to eat and water to drink." He glanced at his two friends. "I have some business to attend to with my family. Can you please see to it that Miss Moreno gets something to eat and drink?" After the two men nodded their obedience, Omar turned and left.

One of the men slowly turned his head toward Chase, eyeing her, and her stomach coiled in fear and disgust. He elbowed his friend, and they stepped outside the door, shutting it, their boots thumping down the hall.

Chase slumped against the bed, grateful to be alone and free from her bondage. She took a moment to draw in a deep breath, realizing that since she'd been taken, she'd either spent the time unconscious or fighting or being beaten. She hadn't had any time to process what had happened, and what she was going to do about it.

She leaned her forehead against the edge of the bed, willing herself to think clearly beyond the fog that pervaded her brain. She had no idea when they were planning to send off the video of her statement, but she had absolutely no hope that she would be released even if the agency or the government decided to pay the ridiculous ransom fee. She knew they would kill her anyway. Despite the fact that the hostages from the kidnappings that they were modeling hers on – from the early days and years of the Iraqi war – were freed if they had their ransom paid, Chase knew she could not expect or count on the al-Fahsihds to hold up that end of the bargain. They weren't political rebels trying to make a statement; they were greedy criminals who were only looking to seek more money and more power.

She glanced around the small cell she was in. It was a windowless room, and the door was windowless as well. There was no hope of getting a peek at the compound layout in order to plan an escape, at least not at this time. She figured that the building she was in was guarded with heavy firepower, to ward off those trying to sneak in and those trying to sneak _out_ – Chase knew she was far from the first prisoner this place had seen. But perhaps there was some sort of underground exit, or a back door. There had to be _something._

The phrase echoed in her mind, and gradually a feeling of utter despair and hopelessness fell over her. There was nothing for her. She had no way of taking a look around the place, given the fact that they had her locked up and she was sure they wouldn't take kindly to her roaming around the place even if she wasn't. And even if she had been given free range of the building – she was weak. Thirsty, hungry, tired, in pain, and suffering from what she was sure was a concussion. She'd get lost in the bowels of the building before she made it outside to freedom, she was sure of it. It was over. There was nothing to do except sit there and wait. Wait for the end, wait for the week to expire – and her life along with it.

_C'mon, Moreno,_ she thought desperately against the utter depression clawing at her. _This is no way to be. You've got to _think. _People are counting on you. Tuck is counting on you._

The thought of her fiancé brought her up short, and she realized that the odds were overwhelmingly good she would never see him again. She just hoped that when they filmed the video of her beheading, and distributed it to web sites and the major news channels and the agency – he wouldn't see it. She never wanted him to remember her in those final horrible moments, bloodied and dismembered and tortured. For a moment, she pondered it. She wondered if she would scream. She would try not to – there was no way she wanted to give her captors the satisfaction of knowing that she was terrified until the end; there was no way she would allow them to take her dignity from her. But suppose it was involuntary? Her hand went to her throat and squeezed lightly as she stared off into space. It had hurt like a son of a bitch when Omar had merely sliced the skin of her throat, just to scare her. She hadn't had a chance to look at it, but it still stung and it was just a flesh wound. She'd seen the videos of the hostages being taken by Al-Qaeda; it hadn't been a clean execution. They had used knives, big ones to be sure, but none that had sliced through flesh and bone with one stroke. There had been…sawing. Chase gulped. And there had been screaming. No matter how dignified the victims had been in their final moments, still, almost calm – they had all screamed. The images from the videos haunted her still, almost a decade later. And she would never rest peacefully knowing that Tuck had witnessed that; that he had seen her suffer and bleed and scream and brutalized. It would destroy him. Maybe she could ask them to just shoot her in the head instead – quick, easy, and she didn't need to see it coming. Tears involuntarily oozed from her eyes as she felt his pain, imagining his grief for her. And then she started, as she realized she had begun to grieve for herself.

She snapped out of it when she heard the sound of voices outside her door, looking up from the floor as it opened. Her heart rate sped up to an inhuman rate as she saw the first two men that had led her around earlier. They had returned to her cell as instructed, except they were empty-handed. They had, however, brought friends.

She swallowed hard as she looked up, counting five men. And they stared back at her, sizing her up, smirking. Looking at her like she was a piece of meat.

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she realized what was coming next. She had actually been anticipating it for some time; her operative training, thorough and rigorous, had taught her and all female trainees to expect to be raped in the event that they were captured. And on the tail end of that realization, a slow, white-hot rage began warming her stomach, spreading through her chest and her limbs as adrenaline flowed through her, thick and sweet like honey. Energy borne of panic and a primal need for survival cleared her mind and temporarily lent her the strength she needed in that moment. She remained still and quiet on the floor, staring up at them, her motionlessness and silence belying the fury surging through her.

They would not rape her. Not without the most vicious fight of their lives.

"Lock the door," one of the men instructed another. He turned to look back at Chase. He spoke in Farsi despite the fact that he knew Chase was fluent in the language. "I've never had American cunt before. I bet this pig-bitch is loose."

"They all are," another one chimed in.

"Don't put it in her mouth," a third man spoke up. "She will bite it off."

"And then she will be dead," the first man laughed. He approached Chase, leaning over to grab her arm. She let him hoist her to her feet and shove her back onto her bunk, never taking her eyes off him. He undid his belt and then unbuttoned his pants and took down his zipper. "You're a compliant little pig-bitch, aren't you?"

Chase merely stared back at him, keeping very still, and waiting.

When he reached for the waistband of her scrub pants, she grabbed his hand lightning fast, grabbing his thumb and breaking it, while simultaneously snatching his belt from around his waist. His mouth dropped open and the first notes of his howl filled the room before she rolled easily to her side and swung her leg forward, fast for momentum, and then drove her heel straight back into the side of his mouth. It took no more than seven seconds.

He was spitting teeth like corn and keeling over when the second and third men in the room converged on her. She swung out the arm holding the belt, snapping the buckle end into the forehead of the first and the eye of the second. Then she was off the bunk, and threw the belt around the throat of the man closest to her, the one she'd struck in the eye. She yanked the ends across each other behind his neck and tugged as hard as she could, effectively cutting off his air supply. She kicked her legs, using him as a base and her movement as momentum, to swing through the air around his neck to kick the man she'd struck in the forehead with each of her feet in rapid succession. She felt bone crunch under the impact and the warmth of his blood flowing from his nose.

She continued to choke the man before her, who had now sunk to his knees as she swung around to face the other two men. They had stood, staring dumbly at first while she maneuvered quickly among the other three men, and then they had tried to help them. One of them unsheathed a knife and rushed toward her; at the very last second, she threw her body to the side, rotating the man she was choking with the belt toward him, and he plunged his knife into his comrade's chest instead of her belly. As the man who had done the stabbing looked down at his friend in shocked confusion, Chase took the opportunity to reach over the freshly stabbed man to punch the other one in his left eye. His head snapped back as she reached down to yank the knife from the dying man's chest, whom she was still choking tightly. The man she'd just punched moved toward her again, and her arm shot out, slicing his throat. Blood poured forth as he staggered to the ground. The man whose nose she had broken was getting to his feet, and as soon as he faced her, she threw her knife directly into his chest, right over his heart. He stumbled back against the opposite wall, then slid to the ground. The man she was still holding onto began making a loud, wet hacking noise and Chase glanced down. His eyes had rolled into the back of his head, his face purple. Blood burbled at his lips and she saw that he was choking on his own blood. When he finally went silent, the force of his dead weight made her let go finally and his body slumped heavily to the ground.

The remaining two men, one of them bloody and slightly disoriented from a vicious kick to the mouth and the other as yet untouched, faced her. Chase could feel her strength beginning to leave her and quickly shook her head, trying to clear it of the fog that was threatening to come back over her. _Too much exertion, not enough energy,_ she thought. _Just hang on a little longer._

The final man reached out to grab her and she deftly deflected his reach, leaning to the side and chopping down hard on his forearm, hard enough to crack the bone. Unfortunately, she did not see the first man reaching out as well, and the next thing she knew, she felt a horribly sharp pain in her entire scalp as he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked as hard as possible, bringing her down to the floor. She snarled and lashed out, trying to grab hold of a face, any face, to jam her thumbs into the eyes. She kicked out, flailing madly but unable to move. He had pinned her to the floor by her hair with a knee.

The fifth man loomed over her, and she saw that his forearm was already starting to swell and turn purple. He dropped to his knees beside her and glared angrily in her face. Without a word, he yanked off her scrub pants and then tore her panties off.

_"__No!" _Chase screamed, not caring if she went bald as she thrashed and writhed like a woman possessed on the floor. "_Don't fucking touch me!"_

One of her ankles was grabbed roughly and yanked open, and she felt another hand yanking at her other ankle, effectively opening her toward her attacker. He leered at her and reached down to undo his pants.

"Try to stop me now, filthy pig-whore," he hissed in English as he freed himself from his underwear. He leaned over her, preparing to line up at her entrance while the first man sneered as he gripped her ankle.

"Fuck her 'til she bleeds," he growled.

Chase yanked and jerked and bellowed her rage and panic, feeling pain shoot through her from every angle as her scalp tugged, her ankle was rotated the wrong way, a fist caught her across the mouth, and something rough and dry cupped against her sex – a hand.

_I can't believe this is happening, _her mind screamed. _I'm going to be raped and there is absolutely nothing I can do._

"Scream for me," the man on top of her hissed, and she felt the tip of him brush against her, trying to part her, and she gagged.

"_Do not touch her!"_

The sudden, infuriated shout brought all three of them up short, and the man on top of her turned toward the door sharply. Chase lay panting, still pathetically spread open, but she felt the grips on her being released. When her hair was free, she tried to slide away and saw Omar standing in the doorway, glaring murderously into the room.

"You would defile yourselves and this family by mixing with this American pig-whore!" he raged at his comrades, and Chase was shocked to see his merry demeanor was completely gone. His eyes were black with fury, his deeply tanned skin was tinged red. He looked around the room. "They deserved to die as well – you will not make our blood impure by giving this pig your seed! What if a child had spawned? We would have had to kill it like so many vermin!" He pointed at the three bodies. "Get them out of here and I will deal with you later." He turned ominously to Chase, glaring down at her before kicking her hard in the stomach.

"For the murder of my comrades you will not eat or drink for three more days. Enjoy that, pig-whore."

Without another word, he spun on his heel and left her.

After she replaced her pants – her underwear was hopelessly ruined – she curled up on the floor underneath her bunk, shaking. She had no idea how long she stayed that way, but it was long enough for night to fall as her cell grew darker and darker. The sound of voices eventually stopped, and she realized she was all alone.

She was dozing, feeling incredibly drained and weak from lack of nourishment. She stared dully into the dark, wanting to go to sleep but she was too afraid to. Suddenly, she grew alert when she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock of her door. She pushed herself back hard against the wall under the bunk, breathing hard through her nose, her muscles tensing in anticipation of a fight.

The door opened, and she saw a pair of small feet under a dragging black hem shuffle slowly into the room, and then shut the door. She watched the feet come to a stop, and heard the sound of somewhat labored breathing and a rattling noise. Chase squinted her hazy, tired eyes and noticed that the feet were small. Feminine. She studied the dragging black hem and realized it was the hem of a _burka_. It was a woman.

"Little girl," an elderly woman's raspy voice called in Farsi. "Little girl, where have you hidden yourself? I will not hurt you. Please, come out."

Chase's heart rose at the voice and the words; she was lonely, terrified and hurt. The woman's voice was almost tender; but it was too good to be true. It had to be. She thought quickly. It was just an old woman. Even though Chase was dehydrated and starving, she was pretty sure she had enough in her left to take the woman out if necessary.

But for now, the sudden aroma of rice, parsley, cinnamon and saffron filled her nose and immediately made her mouth water. There seemed to be a faint, delicate scent in the air as well - a rich, sweet smell. Maybe fruit.

Chase slowly crawled out from under the bunk, one hand pulling herself forward on the concrete over the other. She looked up, and her fears and thoughts of maybe needing to kill this woman immediately vanished.

A pair of dark brown eyes, large and almond-shaped, lined with wrinkles, gazed down compassionately at her. It was the only part of her face that Chase could see, as the woman was covered head-to-toe in black. The only other part of her body that was visible were her brown, wrinkled hands, holding a metal tray of food and medical supplies, as well as a stack of clean black cloth.

"Poor child," the woman said quietly. She set the tray down on Chase's bunk and Chase lunged for the food, ravenous and desperate. The woman stepped forward quickly, with dexterity surprising for her age. Her arms went around Chase gently and she pulled her back. "No, no," she said in heavily accented English. "Must clean first before food."

She gave Chase a bowl of cool water to drink while she took another bowl from the tray, warm water, and some other supplies and began tending to her wounds. Chase gulped the water quickly, wishing there was more. When the woman had fixed her up as best as she could, she gently pulled the empty bowl from Chase's fingers and reached for the hem of her scrub top. Chase tensed but the woman quickly smoothed a rough, calloused hand over Chase's hair. The gesture was choppy and rough but it was soothing nonetheless and Chase sat still, allowing the old woman to pull the shirt over her head.

Her dark brown eyes squinted at the enormous bruise and swelling on Chase's side. She seemed to shake her head, her eyes growing sad, and then she was reaching for a small jar on the tray. She dipped her fingers into the jar and smeared a sharp-smelling salve all over Chase's side. Chase jumped from the pressure of her fingers and the coldness of the salve, and then felt it starting to get warmer. The woman reached for the stack of material and pulled from the top a folded black wrap. She wound it tightly around Chase, and then motioned for Chase to put her arms up. She slipped a clean black top over Chase's head, then held up a clean pair of pants.

"Did the men..." The woman trailed off and gestured vaguely between her legs. Chase got the message and shook her head quickly. She handed Chase the clean pants.

"Why are you helping me?" Chase whispered when she had replaced her pants.

The woman looked back at her, her dark eyes shining with compassion. She finally pulled the plate off the tray and handed it to Chase. Chase's hands reached out of their own accord and took the plate, her mouth filling with saliva. She ignored the spoon the woman held out and used her fingers to shove the rice and chicken into her mouth hastily, closing her eyes as she chewed quickly.

"Slow, slow," the woman cautioned, patting the air by Chase's mouth. When Chase ignored her, the woman gently grasped Chase's fingers and held them. "Chew."

Chase drew in a steadying breath through her nose, staring at the woman as she chomped, desperate to swallow in order to eat more. The woman's eyes crinkled slightly as she held out the spoon. Chase took the spoon and as she finished her meal in a much calmer fashion, the woman brushed her hair and gave her more water to drink from a plastic bottle. Then she gently ushered Chase to lie down in her bunk.

"No more trouble tonight," the woman promised, raking her hand over Chase's head in that rough, strangely soothing manner again.

"Who are you?" Chase asked her in Farsi. "Why are you helping me?"

"Sleep, little girl," the woman whispered back in Farsi. "I will come again."

She rose and gathered her tray and shuffled for the door. Before she exited, she turned and suddenly tossed something at Chase, which thudded against her chest gently. She looked down, surprised, and the woman disappeared silently through the door before Chase could say another word.

She stared at the door for a long time, wondering who the woman was. Why she had offered her help. If she'd really been dreaming. But the fullness in her belly, her satiated thirst and the soothing warmth pulsing into her tender side reminded her that it had been real.

She looked down at the thing the woman had tossed at her and held it up. For the first time in what felt like forever, a small smile crossed Chase's lips before disappearing and she brought the object to her nose and inhaled deeply, brushing the supple skin over her lips before taking a bite of the sweetest plum in the world.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: This is pretty rough, but I wanted to get it out to you all now. I'll go back and clean it up later. Read and review if you would please. xoxo**

**Chapter 16**

_She was laughing. She always loved to laugh in bed._

_Something about their bodies cuddling together under the soft, warm downy comforter of the bed they shared brought out a little mischievous side of her, and she was forever trying to tickle him, tease that ultra-sensitive spot on the right side of his neck, right below his jaw – it was his Achilles tendon, the thing that could reduce him to whining and squirming, and, when teased correctly, bring on a raging erection that only she could satisfy. _

_That was where this was going now. _

_Tuck's eyes fell shut as he lay on his back, Chase snuggled into his side. She was nuzzling his neck, her nose and warm breath and the tip of her tongue teasing that little spot, and it was making his toes curl. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands stroking at her buttery soft skin, feeling one of her hands stroking along the slight stubble on his face as she teased him with her lips. Her legs intertwined with his, the satiny smooth texture sliding over his skin, and he thought that he was living the definition of pure bliss at this moment. _

_"__Love," he murmured, feeling a slight ache in his groin as his excitement for her ratcheted up another notch with another brush of her lips. "You mustn't tease…"_

_"__Oh, I must," she whispered back, tantalizing his earlobe with the tip of her tongue and sending floods of shivers down his spine which he did his best to conceal. "I love it when you get all helpless around me."_

_He felt her sly smirk against his neck and readjusted his hold on her, bringing her body impossibly closer to his. If there was a way for him to make their bodies melt together and combine, only then would they ever be close enough for him. His heart beat with a contented rhythm that was quickly increasing in tempo, as she moved her body on top of his, her moist lips sliding over the front of his neck to tease his Adam's apple, before sweetly kissing up to his chin. She smiled down at him, and his breath caught in chest, and a strange lump formed in his throat as he looked up at her. He took in her messy dark hair, framing her face, her smoky blue-gray eyes wide and clear with love and affection, and her plump, pouty lips, dark pink with the exercise they'd been taking from teasing and tasting his skin. She was mind-numbingly beautiful, but the look in her eyes as she gazed down at him made him want to cry sweet tears of gratitude, that God had blessed him with this lovely creature who he loved more than life itself. _

_"__Chase, darling," he whispered, his voice hitching oddly in his throat. He watched as she teethed her lower lip in reply, waiting to hear his next words. His thumb stroked over her lips, before swiping over her rounded cheekbones and caressing down the slope of her delicate nose. "How did a man like me get so lucky? You're an angel. My sweet, sweet love."_

_"__Tuck," she murmured, her voice soft and surprised and pleased. Her slender fingertips, so lethal and deadly and capable, ones that had killed evil men with their clever, trained agility, lightly touched his face in the same manner he'd touched hers. "I'm the lucky one. You're…too amazing for words."_

_"__You're mine, love," he said, his brain buzzing off of his love for this woman. "You're all mine. My God, I would lay down my life to protect you, keep you safe. I would die for you, Chase. Happily."_

_Her eyes glistened softly with tears, and she briefly ducked her face against his neck. He smiled. She hated to cry and rarely did, and became consumed with embarrassment when it happened. "Don't do that, love. Look at me. It's all right."_

_She lifted her head again, and he traced the path of the single tear that slipped down her cheek with his thumb. He brushed the tear to his own lips. "D'you believe me, sweetheart? D'you believe that I would kill every person on this planet if it meant I could keep you safe? That I would die a thousand times over if it meant that no harm would ever come to you? D'you believe that I love you that much?"_

_"__Yes, baby," she whispered back, her lips trembling under the force of her emotion. "I believe you. I would do the same for you, Tuck. I love you. I love you."_

_Somehow, they were making love now, at the same time that they were speaking to each other, suddenly, as if he hadn't realized their bodies had joined because their souls and hearts were too busy making love to each other. He felt himself, impossibly hard and long, slide into her wetness, her silken walls gripping him like a fist, as she laid over him. They were chest to chest, forehead to forehead, their mouths hovering over each other's. Tuck slipped his hands into her hair, gripping tight, as she moved against him. Bloody hell, she was wet, he thought in ecstasy. He needed to pace himself, needed to do everything he could to make her body come apart in love before his did, because he only wanted her to feel good. Beautiful. Pleasured. Amazing. Because that was how her love made him feel. _

_They were murmuring to each other, between her breathy sighs and his deep, soft groans. Murmuring nonsensical things, words of love that would make sense to no human ears but their hearts understood as their bodies moved together fluidly, smoothly. He felt her thighs tremble on either side of his body, felt her breathing start to deepen and increase. Still he held her by the hair, because when she came, he needed it to be right there next to him, as close as possible, her moans flowing into him. _

_"__Yes, my sweet love," he murmured into her mouth. "Yes, darling. Come for me, sweetheart. I love you so much. Come for me, Chase, please…"_

_And in a slow, tortuous explosion throughout her body, she did. _

_He felt the muscles in her pelvic area slowly and powerfully contract and throb, the muscles down there tightening and releasing her orgasm, over and over, as the rest of her body tensed and shook as though it had a mind of its own. He looked into her face, watching her mouth fall open wordlessly, silent for a breath before a low, hoarse moan erupted out of her throat like her sweet, honeyed fluid erupted out of her and soaked his lap. He held onto her tightly, still murmuring to her, even as her powerfully convulsing walls tugged him over the cliff after her, and warmth spread like wildfire up into his belly and all of his muscles contracted at once and then his whole body shook as he felt his length, buried so deeply inside her, broke and his seed flowed into her, pumping out in a rhythm in time with the pleasurable throbs of his manhood._

_"__Tuck," she moaned into his neck. "Tuck, I love you…I love you…"_

_"__Mm, my darling," he whispered, his hand loosening its grip in her hair and stroking over it tenderly. "Never leave me. Chase, stay with me always."_

_When she didn't answer, he opened his eyes. Her dark head was still on his chest, he could still feel the warmth of her breath on his flesh. "My love, what's the matter?"_

_When she lifted her head, she was crying again, but her face looked so sad, it broke his heart. He gripped her hair tightly again, his other hand cupping her jaw. "Chase, why are you crying, sweetheart? Tell me. Let me fix it."_

_"__You can't," she whispered back, so sadly that he wanted to cry with her. "You can't fix it this time. You must let me go, now."_

_He only held her tighter, fury suddenly raging in heart and mind. Someone was hurting her, someone was making her say these things. "Never. I will never let you go, Chase. Don't you know that about me by now? You belong to me and I, to you. I will never let you go. You will always be mine, you will always be here with me."_

_"__Not this time," she said again, and her tears fell on his skin like rain drops. "You must say goodbye. You must know that I love you always. Say goodbye to me, Tuck. Tell me you love me one more time."_

_He hesitated. He couldn't say the words to her. He knew that to say them meant that she would go away. How, why? He was confused and hurt. Where was she going? Why was she leaving? She couldn't leave him. He'd die without her. She couldn't leave –_

_He hesitated too long. His chest and arms suddenly went cold and when he looked down, she was gone._

* * *

"Tuck – Tuck? Hey, man, wake up. Tuck. Bad dream, dude. Bro – wake up."

Tuck jerked in his airplane seat suddenly, feeling warm hands grabbing his shoulder and shaking gently. For a moment he forgot where he was – the only thing he remembered was that he'd been holding Chase, making love to her, and suddenly she was gone.

She was gone.

His heart throbbed painfully as the memory of her in his arms overwhelmed him. His throat ached and his eyes burned, and he realized, feeling moisture on his face, that he had been crying.

"Bloody fucking hell," he muttered and it all started to come back to him in a rush. He was on a plane, flying to Paris with FDR, and he'd had a dream. And now he was crying. He swiped a hand over his face to get rid of the tears and glanced at FDR, who looked like he wanted to cry himself.

"You're killin' me, man," FDR said quietly. "You haven't said a word since we left L.A. I'm worried about you, Tuck. Talk to me, bro." He frowned worriedly. "Were you – dreaming about her?"

"I lost her, mate," Tuck confessed, staring down at his lap. "I lost her." He cleared his throat and focused on his shoes to keep at bay the round of fresh, grieved tears that threatened to spill forth.

"You didn't lose her," FDR said firmly. "We haven't lost her. She's alive. They won't – they won't do anything yet. We're gonna get her back, Tuck."

"How can you be so sure?" Tuck asked softly. "You know the type of people we're dealing with. They're not a merciful bunch. Especially if they feel personally slighted by her somehow, going after their family. They asked for a ransom, yes, but what's to stop them even if they get it? And if they don't get it, you know exactly what will happen." _My fucking heart will be ripped out of my chest. _

"Not arguing with that," FDR said. "You're absolutely right. But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about _you _and _me_ being on her trail. Fuck the agency, fuck the government, fuck everyone else on this planet – I'm talking about you and me, finding her together. You're my best friend, man, my brother – I will burn this entire fucking world down if it means getting her back to you."

Tuck was surprised at the level of emotion in FDR's voice and glanced at him. In a rare moment of absolute sincerity, FDR's face was devoid of its usual smooth, unreadable mask. His jaw was set, his brow was furrowed, and his eyes were steadily growing a bit more pink with every passing second. Tuck knew his friend hated watching him suffer, and beyond that, FDR was fond of Chase too. And Tuck knew that FDR meant every word he spoke, and for the first time, a tiny bit of hope flamed in his chest.

Wordlessly he held out his hand, and his best friend immediately reached out and clasped it in a strong grip. A look of understanding passed between them as they locked gazes, and Tuck nodded firmly. It was all that needed to be said.

He took a deep breath to steady himself and glanced at his watch. "We've got about six hours left on this flight," he said to FDR. "Let's try to get as much sleep as possible. I plan to hit the ground running when we land."

"Where are we starting?" FDR asked.

"Her place," Tuck replied. "I want to sweep it for a lead. I know her; she did not make it easy for them to take her. There's got to be something there for us to find, something that will set us off in the right direction."

"And then?"

"Then we find Benjamin." Cold fury gripped him as he thought of his fiancée's partner. He glanced at FDR who was watching him warily. "I need you to be the voice of reason and hold me back, Franklin. I might very well kill the lad." He was not being facetious; his hands shook every time he thought of little Benjamin and something deeply primal in him called out for revenge, bloody and hot.

But for now, he needed to compartmentalize his wrath, his concern that made him sick to his stomach, his fear. His love. He and FDR had received top of the line training for their line of work, and one of the lessons they'd learned over the years was how to let their bodies take over based on primal need – like right now, when they needed to stockpile their energy. They needed to shut their minds down and let their bodies get all the rest they could in the next few hours.

It would be last for a while, because Tuck refused to rest until Chase was found and safely back in his arms, right where she belonged.

* * *

It was after midnight when they landed in Paris.

Neither of them had packed anything more than the clothes on their backs and some money. They figured they could buy whatever they needed, but for now, the only thing that Tuck was interested in getting his hands on, aside from his fiancée and her partner, was some top of the line weaponry.

Thanks to their FBI friends, Agents Moore and Marco, that should be relatively easy since there were already FBI plants in-country, waiting for the next set of orders. They'd been discreetly contacted to let them know the situation, that the CIA operative they'd been working with had gone missing, and that back-ups were coming to find her and wrap up the case. And they'd need supplies.

Outside the airport, Tuck hailed a taxi and spoke in very brusque, almost rude French to direct the driver to Chase's flat. The driver looked somewhat miffed at first, but when Tuck produced a nice, fat tip, _before _the drive, and ordered him to step on it, the driver beamed at them in the rearview and complied.

"She gave you her exact location?" FDR asked. "I mean you know her address and everything?"

"Yes," Tuck replied, his voice tight and clipped. "She did." He didn't know how to prepare himself for what he might see. He didn't know if the French police had been there, or if the FBI had taken over after the video had surfaced. Although he hadn't spoken to anyone at the FBI since the video was sent, he had to believe that they understood that the case was connected to her disappearance, and vice versa, and that more of the CIA would be showing up. The FBI would have claimed jurisdiction over the case in order to preserve identities and the sensitive nature of the overall situation.

Or at least, he fervently hoped this. If this leaked – there would be a whole new set of problems to arise, and Chase would likely be forced into early retirement from her beloved career.

Provided she survived.

_Stop thinking like that_, he told himself sternly. It was too easy to fall into the despair, and right now, Chase didn't need his despair. She needed his strength, his intelligence, and his skill. Those would be things to keep her alive, if she was to stay alive. Not the overwhelming heartache he was feeling right now.

"_Plus vite_," he ordered the driver.

* * *

_She looked at herself in the mirror, her heart beating with excitement, nerves, anticipation, and above all else, love. _

_Everything was perfect. The lace mantilla-style veil clung to her head and trailed down her back, along the ground. She looked at it for a moment, hoping she would be able to preserve its beauty to give to her own daughter one day. She instantly pictured the bottom streaked with grass stains and dirt, the delicately linked lace coming unraveled and torn. She would have to be cautious about it today, and take it off after the ceremony._

_She turned her attention back to herself in the mirror. Her dark hair was twisted into a low, loose side bun, fuss-free and easy. The only other decoration was a cluster of small white tuberoses pressed into the bun and blossoming behind her ear. Her makeup was simple, minimalist – because that's how he liked her face best. He liked it when he could see her, who she really was. _

_Her dress hung smoothly to her body, fitting her perfectly like a glove. She didn't care if it was the last dress she would ever wear – she knew she could never feel more beautiful in all her life than she did right now. The daringly low back of her dress revealed most of her smooth, flawless, tanned skin, and she couldn't wait for him to see her in it. He had always loved her back – it brought to mind the night they had first kissed each other, and she had worn a dress with a cut-out back. He hadn't been able to keep his hands off her, and now, his fingertips would always idly find her back, to stroke the smooth skin there, and it produced a sense of extreme relaxation in her, a feeling of security. Nothing in life could ever hurt her or go wrong when her lover's hand, comforting and a little greedy, sensuous, was upon her. _

_She gripped the simple bouquet of cream and pink flowers in her hands, gave herself a good long look in the mirror. She smiled, and happily bid Miss Chase Moreno goodbye. She couldn't wait one more moment to become Mrs. John Tucker Hansen. _

_As if on cue, there was a knock on the little door of the vanity room she was dressing in, and she turned. It was her father, and he beamed at her from the doorway. _

_"__Are you ready, baby?" he asked, and his eyes suddenly got very bright, his throat working as he took in the sight of his daughter, so happy, so beautiful, so in love._

_"__Yes, Daddy," she replied, and got up carefully to meet him. It wasn't until they moved through Nana's home to the backyard that her father looked down in surprise._

_"__Where are your shoes, honey?" he exclaimed gently. _

_Chase bit her lip as she looked outside. There were people in the seats on both sides of the yard, and a white linen runner led from the patio door to the altar. There were cream and pink rose petals littering the way, and the white trellis had been interlaced with flowers and greens and ivies, and strung with softly glowing white lights as dusk threatened to fall upon them. But the only thing she saw was him – he stood at the front with the priest and his best man, FDR, wearing a tux with no tie, his hair casually mussed. His collar was unbuttoned, and he was looking upward. Almost as though he were praying. _

_And then, he lowered his head, his eyes traveling toward the back of the house, where she was still inside, and out of sight, and a slow smile tugged at his lips. A smile of gentle anticipation, of excitement – one that matched the feeling in her own heart. _

_"__I don't need shoes, Daddy," she whispered, unable to look away from him. "I don't need shoes. Please – let's go. I just want to go get married to the love of my life."_

_In reply, her father kissed her cheek, took her arm and opened the door. "Far be it from me to keep you waiting any longer, sweetness. Let's go."_

_And so Chase moved down the aisle barefoot, the petals as soft as butter under her feet, the linen pressing down against the prickly grass. She vaguely registered the people that were standing and smiling at her, and her weepy father, but she only had eyes for him. And as soon as he'd seen her, his smile had dropped away and his eyes had lit up, and filled with some incredibly intense emotion that she knew mirrored what was in her own eyes. She suddenly wanted to fling her bouquet away and sprint the rest of the way down the aisle toward his arms. _

_When she reached him, she realized she was trembling. She watched as her father and her love embraced each other, with genuine feeling, and then shook hands. Her father turned to her, and she took her eyes from her love for a moment, to symbolically say goodbye._

_"__I love you, sweetness," he said gently, patting her cheek. "He's a good man, and you make him happy. I love you both."_

_"__I love you, Daddy," she said, and bit her lip to keep the tears at bay against the sweetness of her father's loving embrace. Then he was trumpeting into his handkerchief and sitting down to be hugged and patted by his crying wife. _

_Chase turned back to her love, and in the pewter blue depths of his eyes, she could have drowned on the tidal wave of feelings she saw there. He reached slowly for her hand, and then his lips were against her skin, his eyes never leaving her. _

_"__I've come alive this day," he whispered to her. "You are everything to me. You are my life, my love, my reason for existing."_

_"__Tuck," she murmured back, unable to hold the tears back any longer. "Tuck – just – marry me now."_

_He laughed gently and stroked her cheek. "What do you think we're doing now?" He quirked his scarred eyebrow at her in that way she loved and it made her cry harder. He was all of hers, this beautiful, sweet, strong, stubborn, brave, dear man. All of hers, no one else's, for a lifetime and then an eternity. _

_She didn't even hear the priest's words, or remembered kneeling, or any of the traditional ceremonial rites. She only knew that Tuck's hand was around hers, strong and steady, and the vows that they said to each other. She only knew that he was slipping a band onto her finger, and she was putting one on his, and she was waiting what seemed like an eternity for the words she so desperately longed to hear._

_"__I now pronounce you husband and wife. Tuck, you may kiss your bride."_

_And then his arms were around her, and there was a low roar in her ears, and she felt the swift thudding of his heart against hers and then his lips, so soft, so full, so sweet, pressed against hers in a way that exuded modesty in front of their families but was laced with whispers and promises of more to come later, when they could truly be alone as man and wife. _

_"__Don't let me go," she whispered against his lips. "I'm dizzy. Don't let me go."_

_"__I will never let you go, you silly woman," he murmured back affectionately. "I will always be here to catch you. I'll never let you fall."_

_"__I love you," she said. "I love you."_

* * *

In a cold, dank cell, huddled under a scratchy blanket, Chase suddenly awoke. For a moment she held still, the sweetness, the utter beauty of her dream still strong around her. For an instant, she was warm, and safe, and happy.

And then she opened her eyes and remembered where she was, and began to cry, agonized, heartbroken sobs.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Sorry to keep you waiting so long, loves. Going through some bad juju over here. But I have somethin' new for ya. Read and leave me lots of reviews. xoxo**

**Chapter 17**

Tuck pulled in a deep breath as he stood in front of what had once been her door.

It was strange, being here now. For so many days, weeks, he'd wanted to be _right here_ – waiting outside her door for her to open it, so he could sweep her into his arms and bury his face in her neck and tell her how much he'd been missing her. That he couldn't wait on this mission to wrap and for her to come home to L.A., that he had to come out and see her. It was against agency policy, yes, he knew, but damn it all anyway.

And she would scold him, and accuse him of being unprofessional, and tell him that he could blow her cover, and then she would hug him back fiercely and kiss him and say, "Baby, I missed you too."

He studied the wooden door. There were cracks in it, in the middle and down low, like it had been kicked open. Tuck's fingers traced the wood, his mind reeling. He didn't see bullet holes, and other than the cracks, the door itself was relatively pristine. Almost like it had been kicked once to speed up an entrance. Tuck straightened from his crouched position and eyed the lock on the door. That was ruined, he could see. The wood around the metal lock was splintered. Likely, it was the FBI that had been forced to kick the door open to get inside in the days following the attack; the al-Fahsihd's entry into Chase's flat had to have been quite stealthy and near-silent in order for her to have been unsure or unknowing of a break-in. Had someone out-and-out kicked in the door, he knew she'd have been out the window long before they'd had a chance to find her.

_Window._

He'd noticed that each flat, with the exception of the ground floor units, each had a little balcony. Likely, the assault had taken place with the assailants coming from the roof, hitting the balcony, and going in through the sliding glass doors. He stared at the door hard for a moment, summoning his strength.

"Come on, man. Let's get in there."

FDR's quiet voice met his ears, from where he was standing behind him. Tuck glanced at his partner, and FDR placed a hand on his shoulder, with a small, understanding smile. "Can't look for clues if we don't go in."

Tuck sighed and nodded, and pulled the sleeve of his pullover down over his hand and reached for the knob. It turned easily, and the door swung open on its hinges.

Immediately, he lifted up the Glock he'd been holding in his other hand – courtesy of the in-country FBI agents Marco and Moore had referred them to – and supporting it, stepped inside the flat sideways with a slow, sweeping motion of his surroundings. FDR took a similar stance, from the other side, ensuring that no surprises waited for them on the other side of the door. Tuck heightened his hearing sense, intent on uncovering even the slightest of sounds in the flat, indicating that someone was there who probably should not be. FDR held still, doing the same.

After a long moment, they exchanged a glance and a nod. There was no immediate threat rushing out to them, but that did not mean that the flat did not need to be swept. Tuck silently shut the door behind him, noting how the security chain was broken, and he and FDR moved to quickly sweep the flat to make sure no one was hiding anywhere they shouldn't be. It was empty of any other living soul, and he and FDR reconvened in the living room.

For the first time, Tuck allowed his eyes, his cognizant vision, to really take a look around.

He was quite sure that the FBI had closed off the flat and locked it down, probably working with the landlord of the building to ensure he kept the situation to himself. _Likely with a bloody handsome payoff_, Tuck thought. Any bodies that might have been left in the flat had been cleared away, although there were still blood stains and signs of violence everywhere.

The shattered glass of a broken vase was on the wooden floor, shards strewn everywhere. The coffee table was upended, and an end table was lying on its side with two of its legs broken. It was clear that there had been quite a fight that had taken place in this room. He looked around silently, trying to picture Chase fighting her way through. Presumably she escaped out the sliding glass doors and onto the balcony.

Tuck stepped through the wreckage of the room and opened the door, stepping out onto the balcony. He looked around, imagining that she had probably just gone right ahead and thrown herself over the railing – it was what he would have done. He moved to the railing and immediately noticed a little spot of blood. He glanced over the side, seeing the fire escape below. She'd probably caught the ladder and then ridden it down the ground, and then run for it.

Run until she'd been caught.

He sighed heavily through his nose and returned to the living room. FDR was watching him carefully. "Anything?"

Tuck shrugged. "Bit of blood on the railing. Otherwise, nothing. It's pretty clear she leapt over the side onto the fire escape and made her way down from there." He moved around FDR instinctively toward the back of the flat. Where her bedroom had to be.

He took another deep breath and stood in the doorway of the small, snug room that had been hers. The bed was unmade, and he noticed immediately that her laptop was missing – either the al-Fahsihds or the FBI had it. He was willing to bet it was the crime family; they must have known that she had dozens of electronic files of the cases she had worked saved on there.

He turned in a slow circle. This had been where much of the fight had taken place. He looked at the opened bedroom door, seeing two bullet holes puncturing it, and turned, following their trajectory. It would seem that they had traveled at an incline, putting the shooter on the ground near the bed – at the foot of the bed, actually. Tuck pictured Chase crouched down at the foot, using it as a shield, dropping the first two invaders through the door. His eye caught sight of another bullet hole in the wall behind where she likely had been – the size of the hole was different. He knew that she would have shot forty-cal cartridges from her gun; the one in the wall behind her was more like a twenty-two. His sharp eyes moved further, and caught a tiny splattering of what looked like blood, just below the hole.

"Fucking bloody bastards," he growled under his breath. They'd shot her, the fucks. They'd shot Chase.

"Look at the size of the pattern, though, bro," FDR said, appearing suddenly at his side, seeing the spatter and instantly knowing what Tuck was thinking. "There's not a lot of blood. Not a lot on the floor, either, look." He pointed to a few splatters on the wooden floor. "My guess is they didn't hit anything vital, and it was shallow. I'm guessing a flesh wound, maybe just got skimmed. Probably got more blood on herself than anything else. You know how it goes."

Tuck had been shot a handful of times, and he did indeed know how it went. Besides, she didn't appear to be in any sort of pain that would indicate a serious gunshot wound on the video, and that had obviously been taped _after _this fight in her bedroom.

He stood still, picturing Chase fighting for her life in the tiny bedroom, fighting as hard as he knew she could. She'd managed to kill or subdue at least two men, based on the shots from her gun. Then the fight had moved into the living room and caused the wreckage he'd just seen. _My sweet, fierce darling,_ he thought. Abruptly he walked out of the bedroom. It still smelled like her.

He avoided looking at the living room space and moved into the tiny kitchen. Chase was neat to a fault, and there weren't any dishes left in the sink. He opened the cabinets and saw a small collection of plates, glasses and bowls stacked neatly. A drawer next to the sink showed a few pieces of flatware. He moved to the refrigerator and opened it, seeing a partially eaten brick of Parmesan cheese, some fruit, deli meats, and a half-drunk bottle of white wine. There was the last bit of a baguette on the counter, wrapped in a bakery bag.

He gently closed the refrigerator, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the handle for a moment. It would be so much easier if he could compartmentalize the fact that this was _Chase's_ flat. If he could just look at it as another crime scene, another place to gather intel, another stop on the way to solving the case. But it was just so _her._ Neat, tidy, her favorite foods left behind, her fragrance everywhere, her personal effects. It was so hard.

And then FDR was there again, gripping his shoulder. "Come on, Tuck. Get it together, okay? She's fine. She's going to _be _fine. I told you we would fuck this city up to find her, turn over every stone. We're going to get her back, all right? You gotta focus."

Tuck squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "I'm tryin', mate," he said, his voice muffled and raspy. "I'm tryin'. But she's _everywhere_…and she's not here."

"Listen, man," FDR said firmly. "She's _not _here. Not in this flat. Not anymore. We gotta find the kid. He's the only place to start."

"But where?" Tuck demanded miserably. "She never gave me his address. She only mentioned that he was staying in Montmartre."

"It's a starting place," FDR said. He spotted Chase's little notebook, one that she kept to scrawl random notes and memos down, on the counter. It had obviously already been rifled through, but there wasn't anything important contained within it beyond notes for appointments, meetings, grocery lists, phone numbers, and the like. "Maybe there's something in here." Tuck leaned over FDR's shoulder as he began flipping through it quickly. He frowned, trying to make out her handwritten notes at various angles on the small pages. Suddenly something caught his eye, toward the back of the notebook.

"There. What was that?"

FDR flipped back and held up the page. "It says 'Cake Baker'. And this looks like a building number or something next to it." He glanced at Tuck questioningly. "A cake for your wedding? Maybe she was trying to do some planning from here."

Tuck shook his head as it dawned on him precisely _what_ it was, and grabbed for it. "It's an address," he said. "It's Benjy's address."

"How do you figure?" FDR asked, astonished.

"Don't you remember? She always used to make fun of his name with that silly nursery rhyme. The one about patty cakes." _What did she say? What did she call him? "Benjamin Baker's Man." Bake me a cake as fast as you can._

There was no other information besides the street address and building number, but Tuck was willing to bet the farm that it was Benjamin's location in Montmartre. _Thank you sweetheart, for being obsessive about these notes and silly with nicknames, _he thought with a ghost of a smile. _It's brought me one step closer to you._

* * *

Back in their rental, Tuck plugged the address into the GPS program on his cell phone. And sure enough, the address popped up as valid, located in the historical Montmartre neighborhood. It wasn't far from where they were now.

Tuck insisted on driving, his fist clenching the wheel as his mind raged. He chewed on a toothpick moodily, spinning fantasies of beating the tar out of little Benjy if they found him, hoping that FDR had taken him seriously on the plane when Tuck had asked him to make sure he didn't kill Benjamin. Putting his hands on the boy was _going_ to happen. But he needed FDR to be there in case Tuck lost control of himself. He'd never done it before, and truly didn't think he had it in himself to actually kill someone with his bare hands for a personal reason – but then again, he'd never before had his family harmed by an enemy. The closest he'd ever come to that was when Lauren had come between them and the Heinrich case a while back, and that had been bad enough.

But to have his fiancée – the woman he intended to spend the rest of his life with, have a family with, give everything to – stolen, abused, and set up to be murdered…that crossed an entirely different line, and the implications made him see red.

"Hold up," FDR said presently, and Tuck realized he'd only been dimly aware of where he'd been driving according to the GPS's directions; he'd been too busy thinking about what he'd do when they got Benjamin. "This is the street."

According to the GPS map, the building that Benjamin was staying in was located about halfway down the block on the left side. The velvety midnight sky concealed the moon, and the street lamps provided small cones of light on the otherwise dark sidewalks. It wouldn't be hard at all to navigate this apparently sleepy street to break into his building.

Tuck guided the rental into a spot next to the sidewalk, near the corner. It would never do to park right outside the front door; he didn't want to risk waking up little Benjamin and giving him an opportunity to run before he got his hands on him. Stealthily, he and FDR got out of the vehicle, shutting the doors silently, and moved smoothly toward the building, sticking to the shadows. Had this been a weekend night, the hour at which they were coming for a visit would not have been outlandish. But on a Tuesday night – well, technically Wednesday morning by now – the streets were silent and dark.

His nerves and rage hummed below the surface of his skin as he reached for his Glock. He and FDR exchanged a look and a nod and simultaneously moved smoothly to the side of the building, heading for the back. There was a rusty back door above a cement stoop between a patch of grass extending down the length of the block and a low cement wall.

The likelihood that there was an alarm attached to this old door was unlikely, but it paid to be prepared anyway. FDR paused in front of the door, and glanced at Tuck. His muscles tensed, preparing to run if necessary, and he nodded at FDR.

FDR turned toward the door and let fly a powerful kick, then both operatives dropped into a crouch and waited. Nothing but silence met their ears, although the kick itself had been a bit louder than Tuck was personally comfortable with. They waited another beat, and still continued to only hear silence, so they both quietly moved inside the building, FDR pulling the door shut behind them.

According to Chase's notebook, Benjamin's flat would be on the fourth floor of the building – the top floor, No. 408. Tuck and FDR moved to the stairs although there was a functioning elevator in the small lobby of the building. Elevators were death traps – it was much better to be on the stairs, even though staircases had their shitty moments as well.

They quickly ran the flights of stairs to the top floor, and it was no trouble at all to find Benjamin's door. Tuck held up his Glock and pressed his ear to the door, listening hard. He didn't hear anything, and didn't expect to, given the hour. He hoped that little Benjy _was _slumbering away peacefully, though the thought that Chase's partner was getting a decent night's rest while she suffered in a cell somewhere made him sick. He welcomed the chance to give the boy a rude awakening.

He looked at the door and debated. It was an old building, not unlike Chase's, and he knew he'd easily be able to kick in the door. However, the noise might wake Benjamin, and though he was brand new, he _had _been through training like the rest of them and he would probably be able to escape out a window, and Tuck just could not have him escaping. _How else will I wring his neck?_

He cursed himself for not grabbing a long thin blade or something else to pick a lock with. Maybe he could burst inside quickly and get to the boy before the noise woke him or anyone else in the building…

"Buddy. Looking for these?"

Tuck glanced over his shoulder and saw FDR holding out a small black cloth pack to him, about the size of the palm of his hand. _Lock-pick set._

"I could kiss you, you bloody bastard," Tuck muttered, grabbing the pack out of FDR's hand.

"Please don't." FDR smiled pleasantly and waited as Tuck fiddled with tools, working them in the lock with ease. A moment later, there was an audible click, and Tuck slowly turned the handle, pushing the door open and entering the room Glock-first. As they had in Chase's apartment, they slowly and silently swept the room, stopping to listen for noises.

_Security chain isn't latched. What operative has the option to latch a security chain – and doesn't?_

FDR made a chopping motion with his hand, in the direction of the back of the flat, and indicated he would move that way. Tuck felt a brief pang of appreciation for his best friend; FDR was taking on the responsibility of the initial contact with Benjamin, to make sure that Tuck didn't lose his shit and shoot the boy in his bed before they talked to him.

Afterward, however, could be a different story.

Tuck swept the living room again, and saw that there was a simple couch and coffee table set. There were papers and files strewn about on the surface, and Tuck moved over to take a look. There were files and documents pertaining to the case spread out, and it made Tuck's stomach clench up anew at the thought of his betrayal. The coffee table made it seem like a dedicated operative had been hard at work, trying to track down the criminals that were a threat to the United States, when in actuality – it was the operative, sworn to _rid_ the country of its enemies and terrorists, who was using the intelligence for his own selfish and dangerous purposes.

_FDR better hurry,_ Tuck thought furiously.

A half-hidden black and white glossy photograph caught his eye, the gleam of its shiny surface glinting in the dim light from the street lamp just outside the window. Tuck leaned down and pulled it out by its corner, and felt shocked as he saw a picture of Chase. It was a candid photograph, one snapped of her while she'd still been back in the States, and it looked as though she were walking down a street, heading to work, based on her appearance.

For a moment Tuck stared at the photo, feeling his heart speed up and then slow down, jerking hard in his chest. _I'm coming to find you, love._

"Nothing here."

The sound of FDR's voice at a normal speaking level made Tuck jump, and he turned to stare at his best friend. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"He's not there," FDR repeated, gesturing over his shoulder. "I swept the room, the closet, under the bed. The windows are closed, it's not like he escaped out of them, and not only were they closed but those bastards are sealed somehow. No getting out of there. Then I went into the bathroom – kid forgot to _flush_, but otherwise, no signs of a quick escape."

"Why did you look in the toilet?" Tuck asked, mystified. He knew they had bigger fish to fry, but sometimes Franklin behaved so oddly he couldn't help but try to find out why.

FDR shrugged. "It's a bathroom, man. What else do you do?"

Tuck shook his head, then held up the photo. "Look."

"That Chase?" FDR squinted in the dimness and approached, reaching for the photo. "Candid."

"Yes. It would appear that _someone_ snapped this photo of her without her knowing. Being that she's clearly in the States in this picture, I imagine our little Benjy-Boy was doing recon for the al-Fahsihds so they would know who to look for when she got here."

"Rat. Bastard," FDR muttered, handing the photo back. "Well. It's after midnight on a Tuesday evening. I would have thought Wonder Boy would be fast asleep in his Spiderman onesie, making sure he got a good night's sleep for work at the Embassy tomorrow, but he seems to be out." FDR lifted his shoulders. "It _can't _be a hot date."

Tuck sighed in frustration and began to pace around the room. "The trail _had_ to fucking stop here," he hissed. "We don't have time to waste. I don't want her spending one more second with those bloody fucking –" He stopped and clenched his fists. "He must have somehow found out that we were coming. Perhaps he warned the al-Fahsihds already. Perhaps she's already –" He paused, unable to finish his sentence.

FDR held up a hand. "Relax, Tuck, okay? Maybe he really _did_ have a date…be a cold day in hell, but maybe so…"

"Or maybe he got a tip and he fucking bailed," Tuck replied sharply. "He don't want to be found, he knows how to _not_ be found, mate, just like the rest of us."

"He might be CIA," FDR conceded, "might have gone through all the training we did, but listen, Tuck, he's still green as baby shit. I bet it wouldn't take long…"

He trailed off, and a look of concentration came over his face as he began to slowly prowl around the living area. He combed through the files and random miscellaneous papers on the coffee table, ignoring the official documents and notes and coming up with a handful of what looked like receipts. He studied them as he sauntered into the kitchen, pausing next to the counter to look down at the stack of junk and receipts there as well. He rifled through them, apparently noting four other receipts that interested him, and held them up, scanning them. After a moment, a triumphant smile broke out on his face. He stacked them together and slapped them against his other hand.

"Tuck. How does some midnight Chinese take-out at Zen Garden sound to you?"


End file.
